The Price
by Zo One
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a fallen noble of a disgraced house in the Kingdom of Spades. He will stop at nothing to reclaim what his family once had - and so much more, including the throne. To do this Arthur follows in the footsteps of the woman that ruined House Kirkland, resorting to black magic and the help of a wicked demon. USUK; Cardverse/Sweet Devil; Violence; Dubcon; Art by Owyn
1. Prologue

**The Price**

_Prologue_

It was a pity he never fully understood the power of sin. Wandering life as a penniless fool would have left him in a more desirable state. Sin was a fine wine to his companion; tart on the tongue and warm in the stomach.

Sin was a craving that only fools did not lick their lips at. Sin was his temptress, his companion was his master, and to both he had succumbed despite the solid belief that he would prevail.

Ignorance would have been preferable.

Arthur Kirkland was a noble name for a poor wretch. His grubby fingers poked through the holes in his gloves and he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his tattered coat to hide them. He walked down the crowded streets with a dignity that his attire did not provide him.

He was Arthur Kirkland. It was an old name from an old noble house; a ruined house. Many decades ago the Kirklands were held in high prestige, their lineage carrying the blood of several kings and queens of Spades. But after the terrible reign of King Catherine Kirkland, the marks of royalty stopped appearing on his family's skin.

Spades was named thus for the shape of the strange tattoo-like markings that blemished its Kings and Queens. At first it would seem to be nothing more than a birth mark upon an infant, blotched and dark. But when their time came to reign (and it had been found that everyone with the strange birthmark did _not_ come into the throne) the mark would spread into intricate patterns on the skin, ultimately depicting a spade nestled within knotted designs.

Arthur had one such mark on the dip of his shoulder. Before their untimely deaths, his parents had coveted him for it – a glimmering hope that their bloodline wasn't as lost to nobility as previously thought.

But the mark meant nothing. Daughters of fruit vendors, beggars in the dirtiest streets, mothers of villains – they were as likely to receive such a mark. Arthur knew that if he were to claim his rightful position on the throne then his mark would have to become a tattoo that scrawled across the pale skin of his arm and neck.

Until then, if such a miracle were to ever happen, he was Arthur Kirkland, poor, filthy, broken Arthur Kirkland of a ruined house.

He trudged through the more modest parts of town, following the road as it turned from dirt to gravel and then to tightly packed cobblestone. As much as he detested the richer societies, he more envious of them than anything – this could have been where he was raised, taught, lived even now. If only things had been different.

If only his great, great, great grandmother Catherine hadn't been such a devious bitch.

Arthur's walk brought him in front of a decrepit mansion. His steps slowed to a stop and he stared at the graying building, the chips of whitewash that still clung to the crevasses of stone, the weeded lawn and overgrown peach trees. This could have been his home – vast property, wealth, dignity – all his. Arthur looked away from the Kirkland Estate with distaste. He had an appointment to keep.

There was a tavern in the center plaza, the closest thing to low-class civilization in the richer district. It couldn't be denied that even the rich like to drink themselves into stupors. However they preferred veal with their mead instead of game. Paltry differences.

In the shadow of the tavern, under a set of impressive antlers rumored to be from a beast that the late King Rufus had felled and gifted the tavern owner with, stood a woman. She stood in a way that spoke of the many years she spent walking about with heavy texts on her head and her hands were folded neatly in her ruffled skirts that had been hiked up slightly for the convenience of walking. "Hello," she said and set her folded parasol onto her shoulder. "You honestly must be more punctual. I don't know why you think that I will stand here all day waiting."

"You're still here, are you not?" Arthur retorted. He tried to stand straighter, keep his nose high and jaw set. How irritating that she was taller than him. "I take it that you have what I requested?"

The woman tapped the end of her parasol against the wall of the tavern. "My, my young Kirkland, you exude nobility as if you were born into it." She giggled. "I've no doubt you wish to hear more on your sad position in life – such is fate as we all know well. I am quite happy that fortune has been so kind to me, why, you should see _my _mark, although it's in such a risqué place."

"Do you or don't you have what I have asked after?" Arthur's tone was flat and his thick, dark brows dropped over his bright eyes to give his dirty face a sharp expression.

She tusked. "I know these games you play. But since I have no wish to remain here much longer I regretfully inform you that no, my family does not possess the heirloom you are looking for."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest his outrage, but stopped with a long breath. "Such a shame, really," he bit out and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Truly it is, but as a favor I did find something that may help you." From the folds of her skirts, the woman retrieved a bawdy key. "I was told that this is the cellar key to the Kirkland Estate. Not everything was taken from that shoddy, ah, well not everything was taken."

He snatched the key from the woman's hands and tucked it away. "Thank you," he said primly. "I must take my leave now."

"Yes, yes of course you must," the woman drawls. "So many important places for a person of your stature to be, I'm sure."

Arthur ignored her and hurried away. Back to the poorer districts, back towards the old mansion he loathed. There might be something yet and so he held his hand against where the key jostled in his breast pocket.

He thought that maybe running straight to the manor might make him seem greedy, perhaps like a fool if the key was phony. But he was a poor wretch and ultimately decided that he cared not what others thought and dashed through the overgrown courtyard of the Kirkland Estate. Tall, spiny plants tugged and tore at his threadbare trousers, loosening a few stiches to flour-sack patches and pricking his skin underneath.

The entrance to the cellar was around the back, hidden under a thicket that had grown into the once polished wood. His already devastated gloves ripped further as he pulled the plant, stem by thorny stem, from the lock and doors. Once the door was free and his palms bloodied, Arthur glanced around to make sure no one was in the immediate vicinity and pulled out the key from his pocket.

It was made of heavy iron with the Kirkland family seal of a rearing lion engraved onto the head. There was an indentation where a sapphire or an emerald might have been between the lions gaping jaws, but it had long since been lost. He cradled the key to his chest, swearing to every god that may or may not be in existence, and jammed it into the lock.

"Please," he mumbled and bit his lower lip. He turned the key and it stuck. Panicking, Arthur jimmied the key in the lock, turning it back and forth in desperation until there was the sound of rusty tumblers moving and a faint click. His heart stopped a beat and his grimy fingers wrapped around the sturdy handle of the left door.

With a grunt Arthur yanked it open, the hinges protesting with a loud screech. The stairs led down into the earth, consumed in a darkness so thick he couldn't tell just how far down they went. Glancing back at the sun over his shoulder, Arthur decided he had enough daylight to explore. As he descended he ran his knuckles against the stone walls, hoping to come across an old oil lamp hanging from a hook. Towards the end of the staircase, he found just that and murmured a prayer of thanks that there was still oil inside (albeit old oil) as well as an old fashioned flint lighter.

Unfortunately the stairs didn't end, and in the dim light of the lamp he saw that they continued and twisted downwards for quite a ways yet. Arthur looked back to the entrance, the late afternoon sun still visible. What did he have to lose?

Arthur continued down the staircase, his fingers tracing along cracks in the foundation as he went. There was the scuffling noise of rats, a strange echo that only came from the most open and empty of places, and the musty smell of rotting wood, earth, and vermin. For Arthur it wasn't anything entirely new.

The cellar was riddled with cobwebs, ancient insects dangled from the dirty nooks and crannies. Everything around him was barren, the bricks of the floor were loose and some even upturned and scattered. The light of the lamp didn't travel far and he spent many minutes fruitlessly searching the large room. "Bloody hell," he grumbled when he was sure he'd scoured the entire room.

He turned around to look for the exit, but his oil lamp flickered out. Darkness quickly swallowed him and Arthur froze. A small noise that he hadn't heard before played in his ear. It was like the wind in an airless space, a crude whisper even, hashed out at odd intervals just behind his shoulder. Arthur gulped as the hairs on the back of his neck stood.

To his right he heard something like a laugh. It was choked, strained under the empty room and inky darkness, but Arthur did what any rational man in his position would have done. He followed the noise. His hands roved in front of him as he walked, each step was a careful calculation as to not trip. Finally his fingers brushed against something sturdy and he traced it blindly, exploring the shape and material.

"Bookshelf," he said and his voice echoed off the sparse walls. Curious, he ran his hands along the shelves, only finding a sphere shaped object and a heavy book.

Arthur tucked the book tightly against his chest, his pulse racing in excitement. This could be the heirloom he had been searching for – King Catherine Kirkland's tome of dark magic, however cleverly titled: _Religious Proofs_. But without a light he wouldn't know if this book was indeed what he was searching for all these years. Licking his chapped lips, he set the sphere back down and used his free hand to search the walls for a new lamp or even the exit.

Not far from the bookshelf there was a hook similar to the one he found on the stairs. This lamp seemed to be in better shape and Arthur was pleased to see that it had more oil to spare than the last. He returned to the shelf and set the lamp down next to the sphere he had found earlier which now proved to be made of unblemished crystal. Arthur frowned at it but left it alone.

He turned his attention to the book cradled against his chest and he inspected it with a critical eye. The lettering was a tarnished color that was once vibrant and elegant, but the indentations in the cover were clear as to what the words said: _Religious Proofs_.

The grin that spread across Arthur's face was sharp and his grip on the tome tightened possessively. "Finally," he said in a giddy voice. "Finally it's mine! Oh dear, ancient grandmother Catherine, you filthy wench, I'll learn every last one of your secrets." Arthur chuckled. "And unlike you, I'll use it correctly. You'll see."

Arthur looked around the cellar and was unable to immediately find the exit, so he returned to the treasure in his hands. "There is no time like the present," he said, running his dirty hands over the dusty book. He felt called by the book.

_Don't put me down_, it told him. _Let me share my knowledge, share my secrets, share my power._ _Open me._

Arthur shuddered in anticipation. He set the book by the lamp and let it fall onto whichever page it pleased, his bright green eyes eagerly drinking in the page the book wished to show him.

The Kirkland house was broken by the ill use of black magic all those decades before. His family's ashes fertilized the weeds of the estate where King Catherine had made her last stand. A young man, set to usurp the throne, had met a very gruesome death, and if Arthur were to remember the stories correctly, he had been gutted while still alive by a savage beast that was always in Catherine's shadow. Unfortunately for her, civil revolt rarely ends with the death of one person and mere days later she and half the Kirkland family had been burned on stakes in the courtyard of their home.

There were days when people still hissed, "Burn the witches," at him.

_I will return_, the book whispered to him. _Through you I will return._

Arthur gave the tome a dubious look. The page in front of him was a very detailed spell on communicating and calling forth the dead. It was very obvious what the tome wanted him to do and he ignored it, instead he turned the pages until he came across something that interested him.

Catherine had taken very analytical notes in swirling, straight-edged handwriting. Lists of materials for some spells were listed in order of need, spells and incantations were separated and written phonetically as to not confuse. The time and dedication to such a task was impressive, considering how short Catherine's life had been cut.

He flipped through the pages until one of them caught his interest.

_Demonic Summoning_ it was titled. _All demons require a price for their aid. There is no such thing as a benevolent demon, prepare to lose something valuable to you, however there are great rewards to be reaped from a demon transaction._

The instructions were tantalizingly simple. A mere drop of blood from a self-inflicted wound smeared onto a surface and to recite a long, stringing incantation. It was very appealing. To come into a contract with a demon could be invaluable, if not costly. Arthur, however, being the lonely rogue he was, had very few things to lose – and many that he did not care to lose. The darkness around Arthur grew denser as he considered it. There was little else in the tome he had seen so far that would help his current goal – surely many of them would be useful in the future and he would study the entire tome extensively when he had proper light.

Was he ready to make such a hefty decision? Arthur pulled the flint lighter from his pocket and fiddled with it until he managed to break off a piece of the casing.

All of his life he had been preparing to pick up where King Catherine left off. He would restore the slandered name of Kirkland, he would reform Spades – he would make it prosper, its armies would devour, its name would quake through the other lands spoken in either envy or terror. Arthur spent his life in squalor. He was ready to claim the title and riches that were rightfully his since birth.

Arthur took off his glove and stabbed his palm scratched with the jagged edge of the lighter. He hissed as the wound stung and blood welled up. He wiped his hand on the wall, leaving a smeared line of red. He took up the tome and read over the phonetic spell a few times before reading it out loud in as strong a voice he could muster without it being swallowed in the emptiness around him.

A full body chill wracked its way down his spine as he read and his hands trembled. He felt powerful, unstoppable, and yet miniscule. Never had he experienced a feeling so consuming and intoxicating as this.

The lamp went out just as the last syllable left his mouth and he was swathed in darkness so black that he could not see the nose on his face. A scratching noise that could not be attributed to rats filled the room. It was eerie and Arthur shook in anticipation as his hearing intensified – focusing solely on the small noises around him. When he expected something to finally happen, the scratching stopped.

Arthur frowned. He reached out for the oil lamp when something clamped down on his shoulders.

"_Tell me what you desire."_

- End Prologue -

_Unimportant Notes: _Hello, hello, uhm welcome to my new AU (another one, oh gosh). This idea came up while plotting with Owyn, who, if you have a tumblr, should follow (owyn-sama . tumblr .com) if you're not already. Also big fat thank yous to liberteabel (follow her at liberteabel . tumblr . com!) for encouraging moi and Sparce who drew pronz ALREADY OMG (follow her TOO sparceinspace . tumblr . com). THESE ARE WONDERFUL PEOPLE. :)

And a massive thank you to Jordan (sanguinehero . tumblr .com – follow my gurlfran ok) for being the best beta in the universe. :D

Hopefully I will never have an A/N this long ever again. /dies


	2. Chapter One: On the Coattails of Death

**The Price**

_Chapter One: On the Coattails of Death_

Arthur's ears rang in the silence of the room. Everything was deathly quiet save for the sound of soft breathing in his right ear. Whatever had clamped down on his shoulders squeezed tighter and Arthur straightened his posture. He bit his lip, swallowed thickly, and said in a steeled voice, "I desire power."

"_So it shall be."_

Arthur hissed in surprise when he lost all control of his senses. He could not feel, see, hear – he was unconscious and yet highly aware. The first thing that he became aware of was his feet touching the ground, then the sensation of hot breath sliding uncomfortably on the back of his neck, and thirdly, that he could see in the glow of the orange afternoon.

He was in a decrepit ballroom with broken windows and moldy drapes that were pushed aside to let in the late afternoon light. On his shoulders were two claws – or something close to claws. They were too human, with long fingers and pale flesh. The nails, however, were like the talons of a raptor, thick, black and curled to pinch into Arthur's shoulders.

"You live in such squalor, I can see," the demon said against his neck, its clawed hands slowly traveling across his shoulders and snagging on his tattered jacket. "Perhaps what you truly desire is wealth."

Arthur tensed at the clacking purr in his ear. It was an almost sultry noise, and yet it promised him many violent things. "No," Arthur said stiffly. "It is not."

The demon hummed. "You've lived a life without quality. You must desire a life of luxury – outlandish foods upon your table, cushions beneath your feet."

Arthur shook his head.

"Perhaps what you desire is something more _worldly_." The demon's hands dipped down low, running across the jut of Arthur's hips to palm at the front of his pants.

"Absolutely not!" Arthur broke from the demons grasp and faced it with a glare.

The demon was not as grotesque in appearance as Arthur assumed it would be. It had the shape of a naked man with swelling muscles and soot-black hair. The only features that made it demonic were his clawed nails, a long, bony tail that lashed about him like an angered snake, a pair of black wings that looked to have been made of ripped leather, and two, twisting ram's horns protruding from above his ears to curl around his cheeks and glinted faintly gold.

Arthur held his chin high. "I desire the power of the throne of Spades." He glared at the demon. "That is the power I desire and all that comes with it. Nothing less than that; now cease your games."

"Ah." The demon sneered. "You remind me of someone," he purred. "Someone I knew a long time ago. Someone I hated." When there was no response from Arthur, the demon drew his shoulders back. "I can sense the Mark of Spades upon you. Your desire is one that I can fulfill, however…"

"There is a price. I know." Arthur crossed his arms. "I am no fool, demon."

The demon smiled. "Aren't you? You live such a pathetic life. There is no family to love, no possessions to covet, no promises to destroy… but there is one thing you have…." He rubbed his thumb against his dimpled chin and a wicked grin spread across his face. "You will be the Queen of Spades," he said. "And I will be your King – in every meaning."

Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "Be my King, will you?" he asked with a stubborn set of his chin. "How do you believe to pass such a test? You are neither human nor marked."

"You doubt my ability far too much – and so soon. Just like her." The demon frowned. "If this contract were not so appealing, I might just kill you." He rolled his neck and Arthur could see that the soft gold glints on his horns came from filled carvings of various shapes. The effect seemed tribal – primitive. "I will make you the Queen of Spades and I will be your King. That is my price."

With a hooked nail the demon cut a line across his palm. Dark, blackish blood welled up from the gash and the demon held it out towards Arthur. "Do you accept the contract?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. It all seemed too easy. He knew that later he would pay the full price for this contract – for the power that he deserved, but it was impossible for him to tell what, exactly, he was losing. He held his scratched hand out to the demon. "I accept."

The demon grabbed Arthur's wrist in a vicious grip and pulled him forward. With the claw of his thumb he cut open Arthur's palm just as he had his own. "This is a contract of blood," he said, his voice deep. "Your desire will be fulfilled and the consequences will follow." He pressed their bloody palms together, watching Arthur squirm uncomfortably. "Let us see who reaps the greater benefit."

Arthur grimaced. The demon's dark blood felt corrosive in his wound. He set his face into a determined expression and squeezed the demon's hand. "Yes," he sneered. "Let's."

* * *

The Kirkland Estate was mold besotted and everything was covered in a thick coat of dust, but Arthur had managed to make himself at home within the sagging walls.

For the past two days the demon had trudged through the old house, ignoring Arthur's protest to be decent and dress. He murmured that clothing was but a materialistic object, unimportant and unneeded. He scratched his claws along the walls of the home, carving strange symbols into the rotting wood.

At night after he returned from his usual rounds on the town, Arthur would inspect them with a dim oil lamp and puzzle over the mixture of enigmatic scrawling and letters of an ancient yet familiar alphabet. He could only imagine what they meant.

On the fourth night the demon approached him as he tried to air out a filthy blanket.

"It has begun."

Arthur stood in silence. He wrapped the blanket around his waist, his grimy fingers playing with the frayed edges as he watched the demon carefully. "What has?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

The demon sauntered to Arthur and reached out to trail his claws over the man's chest. "There is something beautiful about disease," he said and pushed his face close to Arthur's. "Humans have such feeble bodies, and to watch how they deteriorate from the inside; lesions, boils, rashes that blister and ooze and the victim suffers in their bed – their home, infecting all that they love. It's tragic and lovely, is it not?"

"You're sick."

"Am I?" The demon looked surprised, his blue eyes wide as he pulled away from Arthur. "But you're the one that wanted this – desired it and made it come to fruition. Is it me, or is it you?"

Arthur shook his head. "What have you done?"

The demon stepped around him, draping his arms over Arthur's shoulders and pressed his nose to the back of his neck. His claws roamed Arthur's stomach in a playful manner. "I call it _lues_," he crooned against Arthur's skin. "Watch as it spreads across the cities, engulfs homes, poisons families. First they will cough and think nothing of it. Soon they won't stop; they'll never catch their breath! They will be bedridden for days, feverish, bleeding, and skeletal as they gasp for air they will never find as their lungs rot within them. Imagine the yellowed bodies they will burn in the streets. They will be our pyres of celebration."

"Why are you doing this?" Arthur attempted to lurch forward but the demon's claws scratched at his stomach in warning. "A plague? I don't want to rule over a broken kingdom!"

"And that is what you don't see." The demon pressed close to Arthur, rocking his hips sensually against the man. "You will not be Queen if there is one on the throne. Nor will you be Queen if there are those whose marks are more potent than yours. The _lues _will kill them and many others in its path. Perhaps you should be weary of the center well."

A small, pervasive thought in the depths of Arthur's mind knew that the demon was right – that this option was the best, the only one which would grant him what he desired most. He leaned forward uncomfortably. "I understand that you are a creature of sin," he said, clutching the blanket tightly around his waist as if it were a shield against the demon behind him. "But lust is not a vice that I am afflicted with."

As if burned, the demon tore away from Arthur. He glared at Arthur from across the room seeming to take on the persona of a rabid dog, before a toothy smile spread across his face. "We shall see."

There was nothing more insidious than that smile Arthur decided. It was a foreboding expression, malignant and promising. He gripped the blanket until his knuckles turned white. "I disagree."

The demon didn't retaliate. His bony tail snapped behind him, that wicked smile still plastered on his face. "It won't be long now," he said enigmatically. "Soon you will be Queen. How far do your virtues extend, I wonder? Patience will be your first test."

Arthur pursed his lips, his green eyes following the demon as he left the room. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders and curled up on the musty bed in the corner. Something heavy weighed on his mind. It was close to guilt, but it was an eager guilt – as if without it he would not be whole. The worst part was that he wasn't sure whether or not it was such a bad thing.

Two weeks later Arthur found the courage to walk outside in the daylight. He made doubly sure to stay away from the central well where the middle class homes and markets crowded, as per the demon's advice. Everywhere he went, scrounging through trash when no one was around to see him fall that far, he couldn't help but to watch people closely. The first symptom was a deep, hacking cough and there was a sick part of him that wanted to know if it was working yet, if it was spreading like it ought.

"My, my, if it isn't Arthur Kirkland," a familiar voice called after him when he had decided to return to the broken estate. "Why, I haven't seen your grungy little face about in a while! I was hoping you might have died searching the cellar of that abandoned pit."

Arthur frowned at the tall blonde. She stood on the opposite side of the beginnings of the cobbled streets in a red dress that matched her painted lips. "Ah, Isabelle, you have only bold words, I see," he said, straightening. "I'll admit that I am just as pleased to see you. Haven't you been married off yet?"

She wrapped her fingers around the handle of her parasol. Today she was wearing white gloves, despite the warm weather. "There is far more finesse in arranging a marriage than simply picking out a rich brute from the crowds, my ignorant little friend."

"Is there really?" he asked with a brow arched in question.

Isabelle turned her head and coughed into her hand. It was a deep, phlegmy sound. "Yes," she said in a hoarse voice. "There is. Now, if you'll excuse me I have an appointment to keep."

Arthur watched her hurry off down the street and into the small clinic building that was smashed between a home and a pub. He waited until she was inside before a smile broke across his face and he continued his walk. Looking at his own hands, he wore his gloves to hide the unsightly grime and dirt from immediate view – it was embarrassing. But if Isabelle was wearing her white gloves on such a humid day – and headed to the physician no less! It was obvious to Arthur now; she was sick and trying to prevent it.

The plague was spreading.

He hurried back to the Kirkland Estate and found the demon pacing the darkened halls. "How many marked people will die?" he asked. "How many are more legitimate than I? How many have to die?"

The demon's wings flexed and he reached out to stroke the side of Arthur's face before whispering, _"Thousands."_

* * *

The citizenry called it Lungrot. The disease spread quickly from the middle class, to the poor, and jumped to the rich. It leaked from the city and spread across the countryside like a kindled wildfire on the wings of infected fowl. Emaciated bodies were hauled out to the fields to be burned in a desperate attempt to hinder its rampant advancement. Nothing worked, even as it swept across Spades and over the Kingdom's borders into Clubs and Diamonds.

Arthur spent the months earning small coin assisting the town's physicians. He sat in the dim lighting with bent, elderly men, wiping the sweat and blood from children as they shook violently from fevered dreams. Their throats, noses, and ears had blackish, bleeding rashes that ruptured when they coughed too hard and wouldn't stop bleeding once they had started.

The doctors made him wear a white mask with dried herbs pressed between the fabrics as well as wash his hands and keep decent hygiene to help prevent catching the disease. They had worried for him during the first few weeks, when it was first obvious that those who were marked were the most likely to succumb and die. Some children survived, a young man or two would leave the clinic, hunched and gaunt, but alive. But those were the miracle cases, and never were they marked. To be marked and contract the plague… it was a death sentence.

"You're a brave lad," the doctor told him as he passed Arthur a couple copper coins. "Your heart must be made of pure gold to help those in dire need at the risk of yourself."

"It's not my intention to be heroic," he replied. "I am but a poor wretch doing what my standing in life allows."

For the most part, Arthur cared not for the dying around him. He had been desensitized to their strangled wails and dying sobs. He heeded the demon's advice diligently, convinced that if he stayed clear of the central well where the first yellowed corpse had been found, then he would remain healthy. Arthur knew he would be safe from the ravaging disease, and four months without so much as a cough or yellowed nail had proven that his wavering trust had been placed correctly.

This carried on until one morning while wiping the sweat from the brow of a boy with round, brown eyes. A ruffled looking man stumbled into the clinic, bent over to grasp his knees and catch his breath. "Sirs, sirs!" he shouted, pulling on the velvet collar of his jacket. Strange that someone of prestige would show up here. "I need the head physician of this clinic!"

The eldest of the medicinally inclined men stepped forward, adjusting his white mask. "Can I help you?"

"I must gather the kingdom's best doctors and those who are most familiar with Lungrot, and you, Sir, are very acquainted with the disease." The man straightened his sleeves, smoothed down his hair, and then said in a quiet voice, "The King has fallen ill."

Arthur turned back to face the child in the bed, glad that the mask covering his face hid the smile that tickled his lips.

"I'll head to the palace immediately."

* * *

The walls of the Kirkland Estate were vandalized with the crude and grotesque depictions of the suffering around them, as well as slanted script and symbols from spells.

Walking through these halls in the dark gave Arthur an eerie feeling – strange, powerful, and disconnected from reality. It had become increasingly easy for him to find the demon in the halls, standing about carving with his curled talons or simply staring at the walls in a trance-like state.

Arthur stood next to the demon, trying to find which image the creature was staring at intently. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. "The King has taken ill."

The demon's blue eyes snapped to Arthur and he smiled. "Indeed he has." He gripped Arthur's wrist and yanked the man towards him. "Tell me, what pleasure does this news bring you?" The demon was aroused and his half hard cock rubbed against the tattered fabric of Arthur's breeches. "Isn't it a captivating thought? How enticing is the image of the King lying in his bed, gasping, wheezing; _choking_ on his own decaying lungs!" He placed Arthur's hand on his naked chest and forced the blond's fingers to trail down his skin as he spoke. "Imagine the imploring look in his glazed eyes as he begs his wife to live happily without him, dying not knowing that she too will follow him to the bitter grave."

"That's horrid," he whispered, unable to pull his hand from the demon's grip. He was strong enough, but suddenly he lacked the will. "Have you no emotion?"

"What makes you think I don't?" The demon touched his mouth to Arthur's neck, his lips brushing against his skin. "There is the pleasure, the anger, hatred, and pride. It's not that I don't feel, I do, but perhaps I do not feel the same as you with your grief and guilt and sorrow that humans love to wallow in."

Arthur's fingers traced over the jut of the demon's hipbone, slowly following its curve inwards.

"Where do you derive your pleasure, hm?"

Gasping, Arthur jerked his hand away and cradled it to his chest. He stared at the demon unable to think. "I… refuse to be tempted by your kind!" He straightened and summoned every ounce of pride he possessed. "You'll not defeat me, demon."

"Haven't I?" The demon grinned in a way that made Arthur appear to be prey. "You will be Queen of Spades before the month is out."

Arthur nodded numbly and fled to his nesting of musty blankets. He would be Queen soon. It was all coming to fruition, but it had a bittersweet taste.

* * *

The King's funeral procession was a quiet thing. His intricate casket did not parade through the higher streets of the city for his subjects to weep over, nor did priests stand at the corners murmuring prayers and eulogies for days to commemorate the great reign of their beloved ruler.

King Patrick was brought directly to the Cemetery of Kings to be buried with little ceremony where his wife and Queen would have mourned him if she had not been on her own deathbed.

Arthur sat in the small clinic in a terse anticipation. Scouts had been sent out to find the new King and Queen across the plague-ridden lands and at night he prayed for the Queen's death so that his own mark would turn into the blossoming spade tattoo. He was sure the Queen, Adele, had been a decent person and it nibbled away at him as he hoped for her demise, but she was in his way. Arthur couldn't afford to care.

One night when the wind was loud and foreboding, Arthur writhed in his makeshift bed. His every muscle throbbed with a bitter agony. It felt as if his shoulder were being gouged with a red hot fire poker, slowly tracing across his skin to leave marred welts. He sobbed into his pillows and after some time he was aware of the demon standing over him.

"The Queen is dead," the demon murmured, leering down at Arthur's squirming body.

Arthur looked up at him, his green eyes filled with pained tears he refused to shed. It was happening. The mark was burning its way onto his pale skin.

"I like that face," the demon continued and crouched to grasp Arthur's chin between his clawed fingers. "So defiant and yet tormented with a beautiful pain. How much pain can such a frail body endure, I wonder?" He set a clawed hand on Arthur's unmarked shoulder. "I can teach you to love pain."

Arthur was unable to choke back the scream that wrenched from his throat as the demon's talons pierced his skin. He gasped and sputtered, wheezing through the blinding agony.

The demon laughed and whispered against his ear, "Tell me when it hurts."

Arthur stubbornly remained quiet.

"Our time together is going to be very _interesting_, Arthur Kirkland, Queen of Spades." He relinquished his hold on Arthur and stepped back into a shadowed corner. "I will see you again." His figure melded into the darkness, giving way to the inky blackness until there was nothing to be seen of the demon except for his intense blue eyes.

When the dim blue color left the corner, Arthur grabbed his shoulder to feel the wounds, but found none. He stood up despite the convulsing shivers that wracked his body and stumbled to a broken mirror. Ripping off his shirt, Arthur drank in the sight of the Queen's Spade on the dip of his shoulder, the intricate designs swirling in black lines over his collar, the side of his neck, and the top of his arm.

Arthur touched the design with a sense of wonder before he jerked out of his stupor and staggered outside into the night, hurriedly seeking out the clinic.

Some of the men were surprised as they held the black candle up to Arthur's flourished mark, watching the dark ink fade in the magic light as a test of authenticity. Some were proud – the young man who had served the community without fail or complaint would be their Queen. A noble soul with good intentions – it was a promising start in a dismal time for the Kingdom.

But then there were the whispers in the alleys. _A Kirkland has taken the throne. Beware of his witchcraft. _

And so Arthur Kirkland of the broken noble house slid into reign on the coattails of death with his head full of ideas and his ancestor's tome tucked securely under his arm. In the light of the day he was swaddled in rich clothes and gently informed of the economic, military, and plague crises by the sick, yet recovering Jack.

He wasn't expected to do anything, only to sit calmly upon his embellished throne and listen with a meek expression as the woes of the Kingdom were made known to him. He was to sit and ponder, murmur something vague and then wait for the King to be found. It was irksome and frustrating and he was very close to demanding he be made King when a soldier fumbled into the throne room one week after Arthur's arrival.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Jack asked, turning his head to cough into the sleeve of his ornate outfit.

The soldier straightened though he was out of breath. "They have found the King!"

Behind the soldier the doors opened again and two more guards as well as a curious blond man strode into the grand room.

Arthur stood from his throne as the blond man stepped forward, pushing a pair of silver spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

"I am at the service of Spades," the man said with a small bow. He tilted his head up and he caught Arthur's gaze. A familiar smile spread across the man's face. It was eager and malicious.

The soldier cleared his throat and announced, "Your Highness, Queen Arthur Kirkland and Your Grace, Jack Yao Wang, please allow me to introduce to you our King, Alfred F. Jones."

- End Chapter One -

* * *

_Unimportant Notes: _Thank you everyone so much! I'm so ecstatic that people really like the idea of these two AUs mashed together (they're two of my favorites!) and for receiving this fic so absolutely wonderfully! :D Thank you! Be sure to check out Owyn's R18 blog for the pronz she drew for this (pornyowyn . tumblr . com - don't forget to remove the spaces!). ;U;

Beta'd again by the perf Jordan (sanguinehero . tumblr . com). uwu


	3. Chapter Two: The Beginning of a Descent

_Important Notes_: This chapter contains situations of the dubcon nature. If that makes you uncomfortable I advise not reading. Thank you.

* * *

**The Price**

_Chapter Two: The Beginning of a Descent_

It was like strumming a chord in the back of his mind; a lofty _twang_ that only he could hear as he spent his evenings in the library, reading by candlelight. It told him to make decisions, to stop making them, when to listen, when to stop, how to speak, what to say, how to feel.

Arthur was sure there was a reason behind the noise and thus far he only had two guesses.

"You're much more clever than I originally gave you credit."

The first moment Arthur was given alone with "Alfred F. Jones", he rounded in on him, leering over a table crowded with dusty maps and wax sealed scrolls. He should have expected it, really, and this pleasant disguise made the demon look innocent – incapable of the pure madness and sin that he wrought with every step, each breath of his existence. He would not be fooled by the golden hair, dazzling blue eyes, and finely embellished suit he wore like the rest of the court had been. The demon looked like he belonged there and Arthur hated that the most.

"I'm sure you find this all to be a laughing matter, but I do not. I am Queen, you are King and this is not an opportunity I would have squandered by foolishness."

Alfred pushed his silver spectacles up the bridge of his nose and smiled. "You have goals."

Arthur nodded briskly. "I do."

"How unfortunate your political position is, then," the demon purred, leaning into the table to push his face closer to Arthur's. "A Queen can do very little without his King. Tell me, what is your first step?"

Arthur leaned away from Alfred – and what a pretentious name Alfred was, of course the demon would choose something that held Spadian history – and frowned. "How do you mean?" he asked in defense.

The demon's smile lost its amused edge. He reached across the table and grabbed the velvet fabric of Arthur's overcoat to pull the man in close, his white leather gloves groaned under the curling strength of the demon's fingers.

His breath tickled Arthur's lips. "Once this plague finally settles," Arthur said quickly, staring defiantly at the demon. "When it settles the first order of business is to improve the infrastructure of Spades – particularly the roads that lead out of the kingdom."

"That's better." Alfred's eyes narrowed. "I have completed my part of the deal, Arthur Kirkland, now it is time for you to pay your half. I will be your King."

"You already are the King, you bloody fool." Arthur tried to pry Alfred's fingers from his coat but lacked the strength. Already he had forgotten how powerful the demon was thanks to his agreeable appearance. It was easy to forget and he hated it all the more.

Alfred's smile spread slowly, hauntingly. "I may be the King of Spades, but I was promised to be the King of you. I will reign over your mind, your body, your soul, your will. Everything that you are, everything that you will be, is because I allow it. You have goals to strive for and I have the power to advance them. But as you have said before, I am a creature of sin and I am driven by my greed." His free hand came up to brush across Arthur's cheek. "Give me what I desire and I will allow you to do as you please."

"You want me to sin as you do," Arthur stated and pursed his lips. It had been too easy and it was his fault for being too casual about it, for not questioning it enough, for trusting too much. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"You don't."

Arthur shook his head. "And if I don't?"

"I will kill you." The demon's face was flat and serious. He tightened his grip on the collar of Arthur's shirt, effectively choking the shorter man. "And that wouldn't be very fun; not for you at least." Alfred dropped his grip and snarled. "I'll come by your chambers tonight. Will you die? Or will you compromise?"

"Bastard," Arthur cursed as Alfred straightened and left the room. He rubbed at the tender skin under his collar. Everything was suddenly very real, as if his reality had been altered and the truth was frightening. Arthur's hands shook and he shoved them into his pockets out of habit. "I'm sure it's an empty threat," Arthur told himself, trying to calm his fear.

The demon had said that their contract was mutually beneficial, that it was interesting and alluring. Arthur doubted that he would be rid of such promises so easily.

He walked around the table and picked up a small marker on the map. It was an iron carved soldier upon a horse with the Spadian flag held proudly in his miniature hands. He curled his fingers around it and held it close to his chest. War maps were something that he was familiar with, that he'd fantasized about utilizing and plotting with Generals – everything would be glory and logistics. Arthur sighed. His dream was nearing, but there were still so many obstacles in his path.

"Your Highness?"

Arthur looked up and stuffed the small marker in his pocket. "Yes? Do you need me?"

The Jack stepped into the cramped study, brushing off the sleeve of his red oriental coat as he sniffled. Yao was from the East, a part of Spades that was renowned for its culture, textile markets, and its border with Clubs. Yao cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said with a slight bow of his head, his long ponytail draping over his shoulder. "I was looking for King Alfred, have you seen him?"

Arthur scowled. "You just missed him. I would recommend his chambers if it's urgent." He thumbed at the figurine in his pocket. "Is there anything I can help you with instead?"

Yao shook his head. "Thank you, but it's nothing you need to concern yourself with." He bowed deeply and exited the room.

With bated breath, Arthur waited a full minute, hoping the Jack would return and request aid with something, _anything_. When he didn't, Arthur beat his fist on the tabletop. "Bloody fucking shit!" he yelled and kicked the table for good measure. It was turning out that being Queen kept him in the loop, but made him absolutely useless.

He should have specified that he needed to be the King. That he needed to have the correct power to bend Spades to his ideals. Queen was a title too easily overlooked – unimportant. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

Arthur stared at the strategic map on the table; the worn paper pinned at the edges and sketched ink of forests, mountains, and borders fading with time. He hummed, pulling the small soldier from his pocket to examine it once again. It was easy to recognize that he was but a pawn in this demon's game, but even a pawn can become a Queen with good strategy.

"I will not lose," he declared as he set the little soldier on the map, directly above the Spades Castle.

* * *

_Through you I will return._

Arthur stared at the closed book from the plush sofa. The soft words never left him, whispering in his ear from across the room, promising him power and wisdom or anything that he could ever dream. It was droll and annoying.

_Open me, gain my knowledge, let me teach you all there is._

He groaned and rubbed his temples. The day was hardly over and he'd done next to nothing but listen to Yao sugarcoat the morbid details and the death toll from Lungrot as if he were a woman prone to fainting spells.

_Open me_.

Arthur stood, stormed across his chambers and snatched up the tome. "What could you possibly have to tell me that's so bloody important right now?" he asked it, even though he knew would never get a direct answer. He brought it back to his sofa and tucked it into his lap, lazily turning the pages, uncaring that his boots might be dirtying the satin pillows.

_Take my knowledge and through you I will return._

"Truly you're a maddening thing to listen to," he complained as he stopped on a page that depicted how to divine catastrophic events through the disembowelment of small creatures such as rabbits, piglets, and kittens. He cast a glance out the tall, lattice window to mark the position of the sun in the sky. Alfred would come before the night was up and Arthur knew that it would be unpleasant.

With a sigh he continued flipping disinterestedly through the yellowing pages and skimming the titles to pass the time. Towards the end of the tome, however, there were less spells and only simple diagrams of rooms. They were immaculately described in their function and location. But what caught Arthur's attention was a room labeled "King's Workshop".

The room looked to be a small annex from the King's chambers, accessed only by a staircase that was hidden by a swinging bookshelf. However, what interested him the most was inside. There was an alchemy table, workspace, and areas for chalking the floor – even a few labeled torture devices.

Arthur was immediately fascinated. This was where King Catherine likely spent most of her time researching the dark arts and perfecting her practice. How unfortunate that it was only accessible through Alfred's chambers.

He closed the tome and drummed his fingers on the cover. This could be his advantage over the demon.

Sighing decidedly Arthur stood and slid the tome onto the highest shelf of his bookcase so that the scrawled words _Religious Proofs_ were barely noticeable amongst the other titles. He would have to go to Alfred.

Gathering up his courage and pride, Arthur made his way down the long, stone hall towards the King's chambers. The walls were decorated with drooping tapestries that depicted embroidered histories of Spades – ancient wars, fabled weapons of great Kings, and plenty of rich lore of the past. Each stone on the floor alternated between granite and a white limestone with carefully cut quarts secured atop to give the impression of ice. It had a mystifying effect, meant only for the royal portions of the castle. Arthur almost pitied the maids that had to clean, polish, and buff each slab.

The doors to Alfred's chambers were immaculately designed with mahogany and white gold. There was nothing unassuming about it and it easily declared that someone very important lived here.

Arthur breathed in deeply, raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door.

The door swung open and Arthur raised his chin a bit higher when he saw the demon standing in the doorway. "Oh? If it isn't the Queen; what brings you here? Hm?"

"I've thought about what you said." Arthur tucked his hands into his pockets. "We made a contract of blood – I remember and… as a member of the House Kirkland, I keep my debts – as a matter of honor." He took a small step forward. "I don't know what you want from me, however."

The demon grinned maliciously. His appearance was disheveled; his blond hair was tousled and his fine clothes were rumpled as if he had been in the process of undressing himself for a bath. He stepped back and opened the door further to grand Arthur easier access. "Come in, my Queen, and I will show you but a fraction of my desires."

Arthur swallowed and brushed passed Alfred. He turned around, straightened the tie around his neck, and waited as the demon slowly shut the door behind him. "I can't imagine there would be much I can give you. You have your wealth and your power. Do you wish for me to kneel? To whisper your toxic words into the ears of others? Or perhaps you simply wish to poison me yourself?"

"Ah, you make me seem so vile. The Jack was just here, for a visit. He seems to find me quite pleasant." Alfred pulled at a half done button of his tapered vest. "Perhaps I am not as evil as you believe me to be. I may be a creature of sin, but sin is pleasurable. Why do you feel it tugging at your conscience? If it were truly evil it would be avoidable, would it not?"

"Only those who are corrupt feel the temptations of evil." Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I am not one of those people."

"Aren't you?" Alfred ran his fingers along his lower lip, his bright blue eyes piercing Arthur. "But if you are so convinced, then by your honor, Kirkland, get on your knees."

Arthur glared at the demon, doing his best to seem both menacing and unaffected as he gracefully bent to one knee and then the other. "I see no point in this."

"You will." Alfred locked the door, the ornate key sticking in the lock before he pulled it out and tossed it to the floor with a clatter. He stepped to Arthur and his light façade wrenched away, his demonic features sprouting from his skin with sickening snaps of bone and tearing of fine fabrics. He ran his clawed fingers through Arthur's hair. "Undress me," he demanded.

Arthur made a disgusted face. "What?"

Alfred yanked his hair, smiling wider when small tears pricked at the corner of Arthur's eyes. "Don't question me, human. You will do my bidding as your contract demands." He combed his fingers through Arthur's hair once more. "Now, undress me."

With a put-upon sigh, Arthur tentatively reached out with shaking hands and unbuttoned the demon's shirt. He did his best to retain his dignity, to keep his face a smooth, impassive expression as the sinful creature ran his hands down his neck and over his shoulders.

The demon bent over Arthur so that his ripped vest and collared shirt could be tugged over his leathery wings. They curled snugly against his shoulder blades. "Keep going," Alfred purred when Arthur's hands hesitated over the buckle of his belt.

"Shut up," Arthur growled and unclasped Alfred's belt, slowly pulling his trousers to his ankles. He made sure to keep his eyes adverted to the side. He had seen the wide, elaborate tattoo of the King's Mark along the demon's hip. It was a rude reality that made his stomach drop.

"Good, good. Now…" Alfred's fingers wound into the back of Arthur's hair and tugged harshly before pulling the Queen's head towards his exposed cock.

Arthur sputtered in surprise. He clamped his mouth and eyes shut, weakly protesting by pushing his hands against the demon's thighs. He wanted to tell the demon to stop, wanted to fight back, wanted to be away from the taint and lucrative touches and words. Arthur grunted, repulsed, when the demon forced his head away for a moment. He had known something like this might have happened when he knocked on the elaborate door, but he didn't think he could ever prepare himself for the sickening reality of it.

The demon tilted Arthur's head back slightly. "Open your mouth," he demanded in a low rasp.

Stubbornly Arthur kept his mouth closed.

"Even in the face of death our pride controls you." Alfred shoved a clawed finger into Arthur's mouth, scratching the blond's tongue and gums without much care. "How deliciously annoying it is. If only you would stop pretending to be virtuous – if you would open yourself to your desires…. Ah, but I will teach you."

The demon's fingers pried open Arthur's mouth and his bony tail wrapped around his neck like a snake readying to kill its prey.

"Pleasure can be derived from so many things, my Queen. Food, drink, power, but my favorite is the carnal pleasures. It is one of the few that you can both give and receive. Let us see how well someone as _pious_ as you can give – think of it as a charity."

Before Arthur could protest, the demon thrust his hard cock into Arthur's mouth. The Queen gagged and his nails bit into the soft flesh of Alfred's thighs as he tried to regain his bearings. If he tried to pull back the demon's tail would tighten around his neck, if he tried to use his teeth the demon would shove his clawed fingers deeper into his mouth to gag him. He was left with no resistance, simply forced to kneel and take what the demon gave without throwing up.

Small, hot tears ran down Arthur's cheeks. His nose ran and he drooled around the demon's intrusive digits, his spit dribbling down his chin. He just wanted it to be over, for the demon to find his release and stop panting lewdly over him, to let go of his hair and stop yanking his head along the demon's shaft.

Finally the demon tensed. The muscles of his tail quivered and tightened around Arthur's neck as he pulled his cock from the Queen's mouth and came onto his face.

Arthur choked, sputtered, and heaved until Alfred's tail unwound from his neck and the demon crouched before him to run a finger along Arthur's tear and cum covered face.

"You look delectable right now," he crooned deeply. "So degraded and yet you refuse to acknowledge it; refuse to fall. What will it take to see you beg, I wonder? To see your stone face crack under the pleasure of sin. I'm sure it won't be long now." He grinned and stepped away from Arthur, casually pulling his clothes back on as his demonic features ebbed away – as if an eerie black tide came and washed them into the shadows. "At what point do virtues extend into sin?"

Arthur grunted.

"I'm going to have a bath now." He slid a silk robe over his bare shoulders. "You might want to as well."

He watched Alfred unlock the door and saunter from the room. A full minute after the door shut, he slowly stood from the cold stone floor and trudged to the demon's bedside. "Disgusting bastard," Arthur mumbled as he picked up one of the silk-lined pillows and used it to wipe his face. He stared blankly at the smeared cum on the pillow. "I hate him."

Arthur tossed the pillow back onto the bed and turned about slowly to examine the room.

Everything was lavish. The drapes where crushed velvet, the Oriental rug beneath his feet was plush, the stone floor was buffed and washed. Arthur's room looked like a poor man's in comparison.

He approached the tall, mahogany bookshelf, running his fingers along the swirling carpenter's details carved into the grain of the wood. This was the swinging door – it had to be, there were no other shelves. With a curious hum he searched for the two titles he knew would cause the door to unlatch and open.

_Theories of Yammite Masonry _and _An Analysis of Animal Function;_ neither book seemed remotely interesting, but Arthur supposed that would be the point of a secret entrance. He pulled both books down so they jutted out at an angle. There was a mechanical click and Arthur grabbed the oil lamp off of Alfred's nightstand before prying the shelf open and stepped inside the darkened hallway.

The lamp was a self-starting model, which only required the quick turn of a knob to knock the flint together within. It was a vast upgrade in comparison to what he was used to using and he fumbled over it for a few worrisome moments before he was able to light it and examine the swinging door to make sure he wouldn't lock himself within if he closed it.

He only had a few minutes to explore before Alfred's likely return so he closed the bookshelf and wandered down the dusty hall until it opened into a large room.

It was a feeling like a noise in the back of his head. A fizzle and a pop that told him something wasn't quite right – that _he _wasn't quite right. Something in his mind shifted, crumbled, and fell into a bleak void.

An angular woman stood in the center of the room, her smile was crooked, broken; insane.

_I have returned._

- End Chapter Two -

* * *

_Unimportant Notes: _Yeah. :Ua I'm going to try and update on Thursdays. Try. Very hard.

Thank you to Jordan (sanguinehero . tumblr . com) for betaing and to Owyn (owyn-sama . tumblr . com) for being lovely and helpful. :)b


	4. Chapter Three: Something Broken

**The Price**

_Chapter Three: Something Broken_

Arthur clutched his head. He felt off-kilter, as if the cut stones beneath his feet were shifting apart, uneven, and broken. His pulse pounded in his ears and yet he felt deaf and hypersensitive all at once.

_My young Kirkland_, the woman said, high and feminine, the sound echoing inside of his thoughts. _Come to me_.

He shuddered and fell against the dirty wall. "No," he mumbled. "Get away." He was going to be sick – an overwhelming vertigo clutched at his stomach with icy fingers.

There was no sound as the woman stepped forward, but he could feel her hands on his face, like tiny brushes of whiskers from a kitten against his swollen lip.

_You are injured_. Her mouth didn't move. _Don't damage my property._ She moved in closer.

Arthur panicked. He put his arms over his face and pressed his side against the wall in a desperate attempt to become smaller. "Don't touch me!" He could still feel her touch.

When she drew unbearably close, Arthur jerked away and cracked his head on the wall. He swore and cradled his head in his arms, rubbing at the tender bump that formed just above his temple. With pained tears in his eyes he looked up and saw that the woman was gone.

He grabbed the lamp and scrambled for the exit, ramming his shoulder into the swinging bookshelf until it dislodged and let him out. He braced against the corner, heaving shaky breaths in an attempt to gather his scattered wit.

Something was wrong.

The King's chambers were empty, for which he was grateful, but there was an uncomfortable feeling that tickled the back of his neck; one that felt as if he were being watched. And yet…. He rubbed his head with a grimace. He must be imagining things; it was stress, and he knew he had been under a lot of it as of late. The elderly physicians had warned him about his stress levels during his time with the sick. They were likely right.

He closed the hidden entrance, locking it back into place and returning the two books to their upright positions before returning the lamp where he had found it.

Down the hall he could hear the sharp click of boots and he hurried out of the King's chambers to stumble down the hall towards his own rooms. He straightened his posture and slowed his gait when he noticed that someone was coming towards him.

From an adjacent hall came Yao, looking stern and lost in thought. He nodded at Arthur but then stopped. "Oh! Your Majesty! Are you well? Your lip is bleeding! I'll call the doctor right away."

Arthur held out a hand to deter the man. The last thing he wanted was to have a physician look at him and gather an inkling of what might be happening behind closed doors.

For someone so austere, Yao was excitable.

"No, no thank you." Arthur tried to smile and seem reassuring, but Yao frowned at him. "I wasn't watching where I was walking – lost in thought as I was. I'm not used to these halls quite yet. However, I can tend to myself; I learned much about cleaning wounds and stopping bleeding in my time spent in the healer's clinic. I wouldn't want to bother the doctor at this hour over something as trivial as a split lip."

Yao rubbed his chin for a moment. "I see. You should be more careful, Your Majesty. You are a public figurehead and you must look healthy and robust for the public. They would worry if their Queen seemed cut and bruised all the time."

"You're right," he said with a grimace. He didn't need a lecture right now. "I apologize for my mistake. I'll be sure not to make it again in the future."

"We all worry for the health of our rulers," Yao said with a pleasant smile. He patted Arthur on the shoulder. "Please take care of yourself, Arthur."

For a moment Arthur felt as if he was needed. Yao's toothy smile and his gentle touch was enough to lift his spirits from such a dismal place. And as Yao left, continuing down the long hall, something in the back of him mind said, _he doesn't care about you – don't trust him._

His shoulders slumped and he wandered off to his own rooms. Of course Yao wouldn't care about him as a person, just his position and how it reflected on the Kingdom. He was nothing more than a face to stare at and a voice to ignore.

He was tired of the lies.

* * *

Arthur stared at the war map in the small conference room. Alfred and Yao were off speaking politics without him, something about the economy and the effects of the plague.

This had become his place to think, to plot; to ignore the strange thoughts and the cursed book of Catherine's until he felt secure enough of mind to begin reading through the pages again. His thoughts were a tempest of excitement, self-depreciation, anxiety, guilt, and joy. He was losing his balance in the world. But he finally had a plan to bring it back.

"Ah, here you are."

Arthur glanced up and then returned his focus to the small figurines. "Aren't you busy?" Arthur asked and tapped his finger on the head of one of the tiny soldiers. "Being King must keep you away from such leisure as speaking to me, I'm sure."

"Are you upset? It must be frustrating being Queen – unwanted and useless in such important details of the Kingdom. Didn't you have a plan? How is that working for you?"

"Quite well, actually." He looked up at Alfred with a secretive smile playing on his healing lips. "I slept in silks until far past noon, sampled the chef's newest decadences, was gifted with a new jacket of crushed velvet and gold trimmings – it's quite beautiful and luxurious. I do believe I'll wear it to our coronation announcement party this week. Ah, and I was able to spend a few moments alone with that busty visiting noble – Katrina is her name if I recall correctly."

Alfred's expression darkened. "It seems you've had it easy. Shall I tell you about my day, debating over nothing with a group of old men who couldn't find their own ass with both hands?"

Arthur hummed and tilted his head to the side as if in thought. "No," he said after a moment of false deliberation. "It seems your life is not as you wished, either. How sad."

"I could kill you right now," Alfred hissed, approaching Arthur and scattering the small figurines with an angry lash of his hand. "There is nothing stopping me from killing you."

"Perhaps not." Arthur carefully picked up each figurine and returned them to their original spots, humming absently as Alfred watched him with a cold expression. "But why would you be rid of an asset you've barely used?" He looked up and caught Alfred's eyes with his own. "You're envious."

Alfred said nothing. He was struggling to keep his temper and he shoved against Arthur, pushing his hands into the Queen's pants and biting his shoulder through the fabric of his blouse. When Arthur didn't react either positively or negatively, he tore away with a snarl.

"I did have to oversee the planning of our coronation announcement party, however," Arthur said and looked back at the table, trying to sound as unaffected as possible. "I made sure that the wine will flow all night, and that the food will be more than plenty; the women loose and our beds warm." He spared Alfred a glance. "If that pleases you."

"Why?"

Arthur picked up a soldier with a drum and urged him forward on the map. "My intention is not to fight with you. I do have goals, and I have every wish to fulfill them, despite the obstacles you set in my path. I can set just as many for you, but this is my peace offering of sorts. We may be bound by blood, but it's never that simple." He approached the demon and splayed one of his hands against Alfred's chest. "You tricked me out of my power and I can trick you out of your pleasure."

"I gave you your power," the demon said. He grabbed Arthur's elbow and pulled him closer. "You cannot go back on a blood contract."

"That wasn't my plan at all." He pulled his hand away from the demon's chest. "I know where you derive your pleasure. Do you?" He walked around Alfred, carefully, avoiding his touch and being lashed out at. He stopped in the doorway, turning the handle behind his back. "I suggest you think about my offer."

When was he safe within the walls of his own chambers he grasped his head and groaned. He had too many thoughts. They had left him during his confrontation with the demon, but they always returned.

_Don't trust anyone. They will all betray you. Don't trust yourself. You will betray yourself._

He snatched up Catherine's book and settled into bed, skimming through the pages in hopes of finding a spell that would silence the thoughts that plagued him when alone.

* * *

On the eve of the announcement party, Arthur went to the King's chambers. "I have a question," he said as pushed his way inside without knocking. He stopped once he was inside and grimaced.

The demon lounged on his silken bed with a young, rosy-cheeked maid shyly feeding him grapes with her fingers. He looked up at Arthur with a quirked brow. "What an unexpected visitor," he drawled, his fingers tracing along the silk of his pillows.

"I need to speak to you in private," he said stiffly. He pointed at the maid. "That means leave, you – shoo."

Alfred sat up as the girl whimpered and scuttled out of the room, fearful of the Queen's wrath and bad word. "If this isn't important, I _will _kill you."

"You keep saying that." Arthur took a seat on a cushioned chair next to Alfred's bed. He picked up the discarded bowl of grapes and plucked one of the green fruit, holding it out towards the demon's mouth. "And yet you haven't."

"One day I will."

Arthur nodded. "I look forward to it." He held the grape close to Alfred's lips and when the man finally opened his mouth, he snatched it away and popped it into his own mouth. "You should know better than to expect luxury from me."

Snarling, Alfred grabbed Arthur by the collar and pulled the Queen on top of him, pressing their faces close. "You're pushing your luck, human. This deal was succulent and promising at first, but it's beginning to look like I was wrong. I find myself dreaming of all the ways to kill you; to peel your skin and make a new coat, to abuse you and hold you underwater until you drown as I take you from behind so that each pant that drags uncontrollably from your mouth brings you another breath closer to your own demise."

"You've thought about this a lot."

"I have."

Arthur pulled away from Alfred. "Well, I suppose I will leave you to your thoughts."

The demon yanked him back down. "What did you have to ask me that was so important? I hope it wasn't just to waste my time?" His nails dug into Arthur's collarbones, leaving crescent shaped indentations in his skin that puckered and pinked.

"I almost miss the way you would wax poetic at me," Arthur said, closing his eyes and doing his best to suppress the trembles that attempted to wrack his body. Alfred was genuinely frightening, but he couldn't show his fear – only indifference was permitted if he wanted this to work. "I wanted to know if you had thought about my offer, but I didn't expect to see you abusing the privilege of maids. I was waiting for you to bite her hand."

"Your offer…" Alfred bared his teeth in annoyance. "What makes you think I can't just _take _what is rightfully mine?" He flipped their positions, pushing Arthur into the soft blankets and pillows. His expression softened and he stroked the side of Arthur's face. "I am your King," he murmured. "In everything I am your King and you are my subordinate. I will do with your body as I please and you will accept mine, I will tell you as I see fit and you will obey. I will show you the path of sin and you will follow. It is an easy journey."

Arthur looked away as the demon undressed him, tugging at his jacket and pulling open his blouse. He refused to make any kind indication of like or dislike, to simply become an uninteresting doll.

Alfred, however, was not deterred by the act this time. He jerked Arthur's trousers down to his knees and bit at his chest, slurping lewdly against his skin and sucking. "I believe you should be punished," he said and bit just above Arthur's navel. "For making me so angry. It is an easy thing to do, but it's not an emotion that goes unheeded – you will remember this when I am finished."

"Yao suggests you don't harm my face or hands, where people might see. It's no use letting the nobles come up with ideas of their own." He grinned. "Did you know the Im family actively partakes in witch hunts?"

The demon growled and scratched his shoulders. His human features melted away with his patience and his talon nails bit into muscle. "I will do as I please, however I wish to do it." He bit Arthur's side, just under the jut of his final rib.

Arthur made a small noise of discomfort, but refused to move.

Alfred rolled him over onto his stomach and bit at the expanse of Arthur's back, sitting back to admire the small welts he left behind that would slowly bruise over the course of the night. Arthur's face was buried into the silk pillows and Alfred frowned. Torture wasn't nearly as fun when the target wasn't responsive. He slapped Arthur's ass, his palm striking the supple flesh hard and his talons tore at the peachy skin.

Arthur whimpered so he did it again and again, watching as the small red cuts grew deeper and bled, the pale skin of his ass reddening from abuse.

"Stop!" Arthur cried out into one of the pillows as the demon dug his nails into the tender muscles of his inner thighs, the hooked talons sinking in with resistance until they reached bone. He screamed when he began to drag his claws down, ripping through the flesh. "No more! Stop!"

Alfred watched Arthur writhe beneath him, crying into the pillows and choking on pained sobs. He grinned and relinquished his hold. He pressed his fingers to the worst of the cuts and healed them, but left dark, sensitive bruises in their wake. "Have you learned your lesson?" he whispered into Arthur's ear, darting his tongue along the shell.

Arthur didn't answer. He merely sniffed into his pillow.

"You cannot out best me, mortal. There have been many before you who have tried and failed. Their mistakes made me much more powerful, their tainted blood became my pleasure. Some were much more gifted than yourself, and if they could not beat me then, do not expect to have different results." He hummed thoughtfully, his hands roaming over Arthur's back as his demonic features ebbed away once again. "I wonder though... Why do you try so hard? It would be so much easier to give into sin and pleasure. Imagine it. How wonderful would it to be to live in the lap of luxury? None would oppose you, the ignorant would adore you – the smart, they would fear you, and I could sit at your side to please you." He rubbed at Arthur's scratched shoulders. "Doesn't that sound lovely, wretch?"

Arthur turned his head and stared at the opposite wall. "Now that you're not angry," he said in a weak voice. "My original purpose was to warn you."

He stopped his ministrations. "Of what?"

"I have found that the King of Clubs will be at tomorrow's party. I do believe he should be arriving at the palace some time tonight." Arthur swallowed and closed his eyes. "Ivan Braginski is the son of the High Priest in Clubs. They're all very religious and… I'm sure you understand. The King is very proud of the number of demons and witches he's killed during his reign."

Alfred got off the bed and paced the room, rubbing his bloodied hands down his face and smearing red down his cheeks. "You couldn't tell me that in the first place? You are an absolutely infuriating human."

"It's my validation that you've yet to break me." He sat up and pulled his clothes back on slowly. "I wonder, at what point does sin best virtue?" he mumbled and stood up. "Even so, I have no wish to be hanged quite yet, so I'd advise that you proceed with extreme caution around our guest." He buttoned up his trousers and nodded. "Good night."

Alfred watched him leave, his fists clenching at his sides. When Arthur was gone he picked up the discarded bowl of grapes and flung it across the room. The artisan bowl shattered against the wall and the demon stared down at it with a blank expression. "Anything can be broken," he said as he picked up a shard and examined the jagged edge, "whether it is by sin or by virtue. Something will break."

Arthur sat in his room, smothering his thighs and shoulders with a thick, honey salve that he had made day in and day out for the plague victims in the clinic. He stared at his writing desk, the quill he had used to write the invitation to King Ivan of Clubs weeks ago was still leaning precariously in the inkwell.

_There is no easy way to gain a demon's trust_, he thought. _Only lies and slander get you anywhere in the world._

He rubbed at his head. He got up, checked his closet, under the bed, and shook out his blankets before settling down to sleep. Just as his eyes closed, there was loud rapping on his door.

Yao opened the door and peered inside. Spotting Arthur rousing from bed, he swung the door open and smoothed out his clothes. "King Ivan has arrived," he said, looking torn between confused and distraught. "I did not know that he would be attending tomorrow's party, but it is the Queen's duty to honor foreign dignitaries and our out-Kingdom relationships." He scurried to Arthur's wardrobe and pulled out a suit. "Get dressed as quickly as possible. You must greet King Ivan."

"I understand," he said. He took the suit from Yao and went to the door to usher the Jack out. "There is no need to bother the King. I will greet Ivan and send him to a suitable room, am I correct? Tomorrow there can be more formalities at a decent hour."

He dressed and checked his hair in the mirror before hurrying down the stairs, his sweaty hands running along the twisted white-oak railing. There was a pair of idle maids, and he bypassed them with a scalding glare that made them hide their faces and return vigorously to their tasks.

When he came upon the door of the lounging chambers just off of the throne room, Arthur fixed his clothes and hair. His pulse was pounding and his head ached, but he refused to allow the minor ailments stop him from performing what little duties he had.

He knocked on the door and pushed it open carefully. He stepped into the threshold and blanched.

Inside the room was a tremendous man in an ornate green coat, trimmed with fine furs and decorated with gold crosses and religious symbols, but what froze the blood in his veins was in the corner, where the woman from the King's chambers stood.

Her blonde hair was parted into two braids that fell over her shoulders and she smiled, broken, toothy, and just as insane as before.

She didn't move and neither did he.

The man stood suddenly and extended his hand to Arthur. "How good of you to come and greet me at a terrible hour," he said as he clasped Arthur's hand, squeezing it with a nod. "You must be Queen Arthur – or future Queen? You are now as much Queen as you will ever be."

Arthur tore his eyes away from the woman and made eye contact with the King of Clubs. The man had a wonderfully soft shade of violet eyes and he did his best to smile. "Yes," he answered, "you are right. Spades is still recovering from tragedy, but I do hope you find my Kingdom to be hospitable."

"Indeed." Ivan ran one of his large hands over his face and blinked several times. "I am hoping you do not find me rude, but I would like to ask we keep pleasantries to a minimum. It has been a long trip."

"Right, right, of course, I would hate to make you uncomfortable. There is a room being prepared for your visit as we speak. It should be ready by the time we reach it." He opened the door wide and smiled. "After you."

Once Ivan was through, Arthur chanced a glance over his shoulder, looking for the insane woman in the corner of the room.

She was gone.

- End Chapter Three -

* * *

_Unimportant Notes_: Sorry for the late update. It seems that every time I make a promise, life makes a liar out of me. :U

Big fat thank yous to Owyn, liberteabel, and Jordan! :)


	5. Chapter Four: Strength and Survival

**The Price**

_Chapter Four: Strength, Perseverance, and Survival_

Arthur peered into his mirror, identifying every impurity, dust mark, and sun glare marring the smooth surface and then moved onto the imperfections of his face. He had an old, tarnished name with a homely face consisting of strong angles and tired lines. How unappealing he was.

He tapped the mirror and then turned away from it. In the ballroom on the east side of the castle the announcement party was beginning. He and Alfred were not expected to arrive for another hour or so, when the sun sat on the horizon and shone brightly through the tall, frosted windows of the grand room.

A tapping at his door tore him from his thoughts and he stepped into the middle of the room. "It's unlocked," he said crisply and faced the window. The door creaked open and he tugged at the ends of his cuffed sleeves. "Is there something I can help you with…" he sighed, "…Your Majesty?"

"I would almost ask how you know it's me," Alfred said as he stepped inside and gently pushed the door, failing to close it completely. "But over time our bond allows us to easily sense one another."

Arthur shrugged. "I knew it was you because Yao is waiting for us at the ball. Who else would visit, if not you?"

Alfred didn't answer and instead he stepped further into the room and forced Arthur to turn around and look at him. "What are you planning?" he asked, grabbing Arthur's jaw to force his face upwards when he tried to look away.

There was slight movement in the crack of the open door and Arthur paled. Someone was there and he knew it wasn't his imagination. He pulled Alfred's hand from his chin with a serious expression and clasped his hand into the demon's. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased, curling a finger on his free hand in a come-hither gesture.

Alfred looked dubious, but Arthur leaned in and pressed their cheeks together. "There's someone listening at the door," he whispered and he felt Alfred grip his hand tighter. "Just play along." He pulled away with a wink.

The demon looked dumbfounded before a large smirk spread across his face. "Oh really?" he asked. He pulled Arthur's hand to his chest. "We can always start early," he murmured and angled in to try and capture Arthur's lips.

"Oh! Oh no!" He pressed a finger to Alfred's lips and coughed. "We should wait until… erm, after the festivities, don't you think?"

Alfred licked the length of Arthur's finger.

Arthur grimaced, but he kept his hand where it was. "You're such a child," he muttered. "My, but you're handsome when you act civilized." He cupped one hand against Alfred's cheek, pretending to lean in for a moment.

There was a hurried knock on the door.

"Someone's here," Arthur murmured with a sly grin on his lips as he carefully pulled away from the demon. "I'll answer that."

Before he could get far, Alfred yanked him back by the shoulders and gave him a biting kiss. Arthur flailed in surprise but quickly calmed and went limp, doing his best not to grimace or break his charade.

"That's to tide me over," Alfred said as he parted with a not-so-gentle nip to Arthur's lower lip.

Arthur made a small noise of protest and pushed Alfred away. "You…" his eyes narrowed as he tried to think of something suitable to say, "…you sly dog."

The demon's grin was wicked and Arthur stepped away from him with a shake of his head. "Aren't you going to see who's at the door? It would be rude to keep them waiting." Alfred's eyes flashed briefly, his lip curling at the double entendre.

"Of course, how rude of me indeed." He glared at Alfred and quickly made his way to the door, upset and flushed from both anger and embarrassment. He pried open the door and smiled as genially as he could muster.

King Ivan stood in the doorway clutching an ornate cane to his chest, his gloved fingers wringing around the silver shaft. "Good evening," he greeted with a pinched voice. He coughed; his expression was something torn between confusion and embarrassment. "I did not realize that Spades approved of… Ah well, premarital…" He shrugged his broad shoulders and ran a hand through his fine, platinum blond hair. "I was sent to escort you to the ball, Queen Arthur."

"Ah, thank you. I am ready to go now." He grasped the crook of Ivan's arm and tossed a glance over his shoulder. "My King needs to finish readying himself. He should follow us shortly."

Ivan nodded and they took town the quartz lined hall at a brisk pace.

"I'm sorry you saw that," Arthur murmured as they went, struggling to keep up with the foreign King's long strides. "I did not mean to offend and I feel I should explain myself. Alfred and I have a close relationship – a, erm, _bond_ I suppose you could call it. In Spades the coronation is the legal binding between King and Queen. We will have a marriage of law on that day – there will be no ceremony unless we choose to do so later in our reign. We are waiting until then, but he does like to fool around on occasion." Arthur smiled weakly. "I hope that wasn't… offensive."

"I am not offended," he said, rubbing the jeweled cross at the tip of his cane. "Love is a pure emotion and I find it admirable of those that do not fall from purity out of wedlock." He smiled at Arthur, but somehow he felt that the expression was distant, as if the man was unused to intimate talks without becoming an objective observer. "I will never be married," he went on to say, "to retain my purity and post, but my Queen and Jack are married – a perfect example of marital love for my people."

Arthur bowed his head slightly. "I hope that Alfred and I can become as great an example as your Queen and Jack." He stared at the ground as they walked, frowning slightly. This conversation was awkward for him as he knew that he was already tainted with evil, but he would lie until his dying breath if it meant he could achieve his goals. "I would also like to thank you for coming to this celebration. It is a long trip from Clubs."

Ivan nodded. They stopped in front of a set of double doors that Arthur knew led to a white carpeted, double staircase on the west end of the ballroom. "I thank you for this chance of diplomacy," he said softly. "Our kingdoms have not always been on the best of terms, but that war was many generations ago. There should be no animosity."

"I agree."

A pair of guards pushed the doors open and the taller of the two stepped in front of Arthur and Ivan, standing at the balcony of the steps and shouting down to the nobles milling below, "Please welcome Arthur Kirkland and his escort King Ivan Braginski of Clubs."

The guard stepped away and they slipped past, descending the left staircase and towards the crowds as Alfred and Yao were announced behind them. Many nobles knew that Arthur and Alfred were the future King and Queen of Spades, but there were also many that did not as they were spread across Spades to govern over their homes and estates.

Arthur's tattoo poked out from the collar of his jacket, the twisting ink sprawling across the side of his neck. People would crane their heads as he walked by, attempting to gain a close look and confirmation of his validity to the throne, as well as inspect Ivan. It had been a long time since any dignitary from Clubs had been present in Spades for such an informal gathering.

A few of the nobles bowed and greeted him, introducing themselves even though Arthur already knew who most of them were, their families, and their political ties. He caught Alfred's eyes, who was swarmed with chatty nobles looking for any royal favor, from across the room. Arthur looked to Ivan. "Would you like a drink before the music starts? I would."

The evening sun filtered through the frosted windows, giving the white and blue room an illusion of winter. There were the everlasting blue banners of the Spades Kingdom high in the lofty corners of the room with white garlands made to look like icicles and falling snow draped across tables, walls, and buttresses. The effect was both solemn and inviting.

"I find it odd that Spades would enjoy a season such as winter," Ivan remarked as they were given wine by a young, trembling servant. "Much of my kingdom is snow and ice and we warmly welcome the short summers we are given. I never did understand out-kingdom tradition."

Arthur chuckled. "I understand. Spades reveres traits such as strength, perseverance, and survival. Winter brings these into play. Winter is our yearly test, so to speak. I find it to have its own charm, however. Fresh snow in the early morning is quite picturesque."

A string quartet made their way to a risen platform and tuned their instruments briefly, waiting for couples to grasp one another and shuffle towards the dance floor to begin a traditional waltz.

Arthur was enjoying himself with his glass of wine and pleasant conversation (even though at first glance Ivan didn't seem to be the kind to provide much of it) when one of his hands was grabbed and he was spun around theatrically. Somehow he managed not to spill his wine.

"One would think you're trying to make me jealous," Alfred said once Arthur was righted and no longer disorientated. He smiled. "Come and dance with me."

He hesitated, glancing around at the anxious faces of the nobles that surrounded them. There was no way he could refuse the future King of Spades with so many watching. He had to prove that they would have a successful, healthy reign together, and if that meant dancing with the demon and following his whims in public, then so be it. "Of course," he murmured politely. "Take this, will you?" he asked a passing servant, handing off his half-full goblet of wine before he was dragged onto the dance floor.

Alfred pressed close to Arthur, tangling their fingers together and letting the hand on Arthur's back crawl lower and lower. "You seem very friendly with our guest," he said, his foot tapping to the beat of the music before the dancing number was to begin. They both looked over to the foreign King who was listening to Yao speak. "He was eyeing me earlier. I don't like him being here."

"I am simply being diplomatic, as is required of my title, and there is nothing we can do about his presence." Arthur allowed his feet to carry him in the dance, following Alfred's strong lead – surprising Arthur with his ability. "There is also no need to continue parading this fake intimacy. You've made your game very clear."

"I can say the same for you."

Arthur's brows furrowed. "Game?" he repeated, doing his best to convey confusion. "I'm playing nothing but your game and still get what I want." He let his fingers brush against the side of Alfred's neck. "Although, if you would come to my chambers tonight I wish to play."

The demon said nothing, his blue eyes directly into Arthur's.

"We have a contract." He frowned. "And nothing will stop me from making Spades the most powerful kingdom."

Alfred grinned. "I'll see you tonight, then," he whispered into his ear, breathing against his cheek a moment and squeezing his ass.

They continued their dance in silence, quickly shifting to new partners and discussing trivial things until Yao brought them back up to the balcony and announced their coronation day and revealed their tattoos – much to Arthur's embarrassment and to Alfred's amusement (Yao had to convince him _not_ to take off his trousers) and by then it was in late into the night. Many of the nobles were drowsy from the spirits and those who were not continued to dance the night away.

Arthur, however, professed his weakness, thanked what guests were still milling about, and retired to his chambers. It was an open invitation for Alfred to follow him, but he hoped that the demon would be more tactful than that.

He sat on his bed and carefully undressed wincing when the expensive fabrics rubbed and brushed against his still-sensitive bruises. Hopefully a benefit for indulging the demon would be less uncomfortable injuries. Once he was naked, he lay back in his bed and reached for a vial of slick that he had been using for the past week. He knew that this situation was bound to happen and soon, so he felt the need to be prepared because he doubted the demon would be courteous enough to stretch him before taking him.

Arthur penetrated himself with slick fingers, grimacing as he carefully prepared his entrance, scissoring and curling his fingers. It wasn't a particularly pleasant feeling, although he could understand how others could eventually grow accustomed to it and enjoy it, but he didn't think he could. Not for the person he was forced to be coupling with.

After adding a fourth finger, wondering just how much he actually should do this, he gave up and relaxed into his pillows. He wiped his hand off on a rag that he had brought from the bathroom and waited. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep on his stomach, clutching a silk pillow to his chest.

He had never heard his door open or the footsteps against the stone floor, but clawed hands gripped his hips and he woke with a start as the demon clambered onto his bed and pressed his hard cock between his ass cheeks.

"Look at you," Alfred purred into his ear, nibbling on the lobe with sharp teeth. "Look at how low you've fallen, naked and waiting for me to take you. Soon you will be no better than a dog, barking for my touch and my cock."

Arthur grumbled and grasped for the vial of oil, pulling it from his nightstand and thrust it towards the demon behind him. "I'm sure this will make it more pleasant for you," he said with a frown. "But I'm sure it will take more than false words to reduce me into a sinful mass of lust for you."

The demon tore the oil from Arthur's hand and smeared it hastily across his cock. "You'll learn," he whispered, the head of his cock pressing against Arthur's entrance, easing in and pulling out. "You will see how luxurious sin can be, how easy it is to give into pleasures and let it consume you – there is no better feeling." He ran his fingers down the curve of Arthur's spine, watching him shiver. "What harm can lust do?"

"I – ah!" The demon shoved his cock into him without warning, making Arthur choke on whatever he was going to say. His legs trembled and he tried to keep upright as Alfred pounded into him relentlessly, no matter how much it burned or hurt. He hid his face in his pillow, shuddering in disgust as the creature's hands roamed across his naked body, unable to palm his dick into an erection.

"You're not as tight as I imagined you would be," Alfred grunted out into the crook of Arthur's shoulder. "Did you enjoy touching yourself? You should show me next time, let me tempt you and tease your body."

Alfred gave a hard thrust that made Arthur's breath catch, whether it was from pain or the strange tingling feeling in the cradle of his stomach, he wouldn't know. He whined and wheezed into his pillow as the demon's claws began to scratch and cut at him as the creature drew closer to his climax. Familiar tears rolled down his cheeks and he tried to swallow his choking gasps.

He bit Arthur across his shoulders, mumbling lewd things and panting hot breaths against the back of the Queen's neck.

Arthur tried to ignore all the things the demon said he wanted to do to him and his body, the countless positions and tortures, until he came hard into Arthur's ass.

Alfred went limp, wrapping his twitching arms around Arthur's torso and collapsed to the side, pulling him close to his chest.

"What are you doing?" he asked harshly, clawing for the edge of the mattress to wrench out of the demon's arms, but Alfred held him tighter. "Stop this! Haven't you done enough?"

"Hmmm, have I?" He turned Arthur around and the blond blinked up at him, his green eyes bright and teary in the moonlight. Alfred liked that face. His demon features ebbed away into the shadows and he grasped Arthur's chin, lifting it up so he could kiss him.

Arthur struggled against him, but was eventually reduced to sighs and whimpers as the demon caressed him beneath tender hands and with a soft mouth. He didn't know what to do or feel or how to react to the sudden change in behavior and was left dumbfounded when Alfred pulled away completely and stood from the bed.

"I could do that to you every night," Alfred said, leaning over to push Arthur's hair from his face. "Make you squirm in want and sigh with pleasure. But you fight me still. Just give into me. Bend; break; crumble. I will be there to guide you." He touched his hand to Arthur's cheek and then tugged at his ear. "I will get you what you want, my Queen, but you must bend for me."

He watched Alfred disappear into the shadows of his room and he curled into his silk sheets, embarrassed and half-hard. He looked around for his vial of slick only to catch sight of the woman that haunted him. She stood in the center of his room, staring at something. A shiver traced down his back and he watched her as she walked to his bookcase and stroked the spine of one of the books – _Religious Proofs_.

_Gain my knowledge_. The voice told him and he paused, drawing his sheets around his waist.

Finally he gathered his courage and spoke. "Catherine Kirkland?"

The woman looked at him with wide eyes. _Gain my knowledge and I will return_.

He watched her pace the room several times before he decided to lie back down. He was seeing things. It was the stress – he needed to relax. Arthur picked at one of his blankets and thought about what the demon said. A sensual relationship… he smirked. It could work in his favor.

- End Chapter Four -

* * *

_Unimportant Notes: _From here on out it only goes downhill. :)b

Thank you as always to Jordan for betaing and to Owyn and Liberteabel for their support. :D


	6. Chapter Five: By His Own Hand

**The Price**

_Chapter Five: By His Own Hand_

The coronation was to take place on the full moon in November, the month of the first snowfall and the beginning of the Winter Celebration that took place over the course of thirty-two days until the winter solstice. It was a fitting season for the occasion – a harsh season of survival and celebration.

It was November third, the thick clouds were orange, as if they had been injected with the dying rays of the sunset, and it was the first snowfall of the year. It had been months since the Queen's tattoo seared onto his neck and shoulder. Arthur stood out on the balcony that he and Alfred had to give the occasional public speech from which the nobles and whoever else could squeeze into the courtyard.

He could almost see into town from his position, leaning against the stone railing with a woolen blue cape wrapped about him securely. The people were preparing their paper lanterns to release into the air, the small fires within would keep them afloat in the crisp air for several minutes. It was a custom that had originated in East Spades, but Arthur had always enjoyed the sight, even in his poverty. There was something about the colorful lamps and soft fires against the first flakes of winter that felt like hope. Hope to live through the harsh cold, hope for warmth and prosperity, hope for a new year soon to come.

A hand grasped his shoulder and Arthur ignored it, staring off into the little blur of colorful roofs that would soon be covered in white.

"They won't start setting off the lanterns for another hour," Yao said, pulling on Arthur's shoulder to try and coax him back through the tall, white oak doors. "You'll get sick out here."

Arthur tore his eyes away from the far-off nostalgic sight to examine Yao. "You shouldn't be outside in this weather," he said. He subtly, although he was sure Yao knew he was doing it, checked the Jack's visible skin for bruises and his eyes for the distinct yellowing that Lungrot brought about.

Yao looked well, but Arthur knew that Lungrot never truly left a person after it was contracted. The lungs would always affected, leading to breathing issues, susceptibility to chest colds and flus, and created discolored mucus in survivors. Yao knew this, but refused to let it stop him from performing any of his duties. He was one of the lucky handfuls of marked people to have survived the first three weeks. When Arthur had asked Alfred why Yao lived, the demon had merely shrugged and said it was easier this way.

"Go inside."

"Only if you come as well."

Arthur sighed. He stole one last glance at the town and hooked his arm into Yao's. "I apologize. This is one of my favorite seasons. It… well, I simply enjoy it the most."

They pushed through the white doors, coming into a small curtained circle that lay behind the imposing marble and quartz thrones of Spades. "Most Spades natives enjoy the winter festivities," Yao said and rubbed the chill from his long fingers. "But that doesn't mean they spend hours standing in the cold and snow."

"Fair enough." He wiped at his running nose with the corner of his cloak. "All is ready for the coronation with the exception of temporary staffing, all but a few notable RSVPs have returned and the astronomers have confirmed the date; November seventeenth."

Yao smiled. "You've been busy. I'm glad everything is in your hands," he said. "You've grown well into the role of Queen. It's no wonder Alfred trusts your judgment so strongly."

"He does?" Arthur coughed to suppress his smile. He unclasped the cloak from his neck and shook out the melting snowflakes that had caught in the coarse fabric. "I see. I'm… I'm very glad to hear that."

Late at night the demon still came to his chambers. It wasn't every night, but it was often enough to become irksome. Alfred still took him roughly on his hands and knees, whispered poison in his ear about giving up the fight – something Arthur was sure he had given up months ago, but Alfred insisted that simply laying back and spreading his legs wasn't what he was looking for. But at least he was finally getting an opinion in politicking. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

He ran a hand over his face and thoughtfully rubbed at his mouth. "Do we, by any chance, light our own lanterns?" he asked softly. It had been many years since he had lit and flown a lantern of his own – not since he parents died when he was a child.

Yao pulled his hair out of his ponytail and ran his fingers through it. "We could," he mumbled. "The previous king did not partake in many festivities, he had a habit of making himself very busy, and the queen was a child of foreign parents – Hearts if I remember correctly." He tied up his hair again with quick movements that spoke of years of practice. "I can have lanterns made. If that's what you wish."

"I'm not demanding," Arthur said as they walked down the chilled halls, "but I would be deeply grateful if I could partake in this."

"Then it can be arranged. Please bring our King to the throne room in an hour – the sun should be setting then. I will bring the lanterns."

Arthur clasped Yao's shoulder. "Thank you." He continued down the hall to the war room that he had repurposed as his study. He wasn't surprised to find Alfred within waiting for him, flicking the miniature soldiers onto their faces. "Is there something you need?" he asked and took the seat across the table.

Alfred leaned back into his own chair. "No."

Lately there had been rumors going among the scullery maids and the lower nobles of witch hunts in northern Spades – the rainy hills and pastures that the Kirklands originated from. Arthur knew what they were thinking, when all the chatter in a room stopped as he passed by, the sidelong glances and the not-so subtle questions about magic and if he knew anything of it. His explanation was always the same. He had barely learned his letters by eleven, and had even less opportunity after that – how should he ever be able to read any form of magic book?

Of course he was also a very good liar. There is much to be said for the determination of a poor boy with a few stolen learning books.

"In an hour we'll be sending off lanterns for the first snowfall. Do you know what that is?"

Alfred F. Jones had been a young nobleman from the western expanses of Spades, born in a mansion among the golden wheat fields. The poor boy had been the true heir to the throne, as far as Arthur knew anyway, but he bore too much resemblance to his demon and was far too trusting. When Arthur had asked the demon what he had done with the boy, he had simply licked his lips and said, "I ate him."

Arthur could never tell if he was serious or not, but the demon – whether it was truly by consumption or not – had taken possession of the boy's memories and knowledge of the human world. The first time the King had called out, "Mother, Father!" into a crowd of nobles, Arthur thought he might've had a heart attack. He wasn't sure if he should feel grateful or guilty that Sir and Madam Jones couldn't tell the difference between their dead son and a demon.

Sometimes he wondered about the original Alfred F. Jones, but now wasn't the time.

Alfred tilted his head back and forth for a moment. "It's the one for the first snowfall, right? Where you light a candle in a paper lantern and it floats?"

"Yes, that one." He picked up a figurine that was meant to resemble a soldier of Diamonds – rare thing that they were – and scrutinized its detail. "I've also heard that the Im family will be arriving soon. I'm quite sure they don't trust me. Their ancestors are the very same that burned King Catherine Kirkland at the stake."

The demon's eyes narrowed. "That is familiar… Catherine…" He frowned and looked away. "That explains much."

"Explains what?"

"Nothing you need to know now." Alfred stood up and held out his hand. "Come, there must be other things for us to be seen doing than sitting in this old room."

Arthur gave him a dubious look, but eventually took his hand. Lately the demon's touches had been soft and intimate in public – almost as if to show off how human he was by setting up this false image of love. He played along, not only out of fear of the consequences, but because sometimes it felt _real_ and he wondered – a small bubble of a thought, if perhaps the demon was slipping up.

Only time would tell.

King, Queen, and Jack all held finely crafted paper lanterns in their hands. They stood on the balcony, the light snowfall turning into fat flakes that would stick to the ground and pile overnight. It was customary to make a wish for the winter on the flight of the lantern and Arthur held his blue and white one as if it were a delicate bird perched in his palms.

Alfred said something about wishing for food surpluses and Yao nodded along as he lit their lanterns. Instead of wishing for something to gain, he wished for something to leave. He placed all of his hope in the fragile decoration, pushing it away with his palms so it would float in a grand arch over the castle walls and into the night to join the many others that glimmered in the distance. Hope was something he was no longer permitted. He watched the three lanterns against the snow. By this time next year he knew he would not be the same.

* * *

The Im family had arrived in the palace without fanfare and quickly integrated themselves into the court. They were a lively bunch from eastern Spades, like Yao, very unlike the solemn and gravelly people Arthur had imagined a family of noble witch hunters would be.

After a few days, however, their friendly faces made him uncomfortable, as if they were hiding their true intentions when they smiled and bowed to him, their dark eyes watching him closely.

Kirkland was a wretched name to have.

There was a young Im boy that caught Arthur's interest, however. He could have been no older than seventeen with wide eyes and a bright, enthusiastic smile. He seemed to be in every corner that Arthur was, making jokes with the servants and explaining how to make firecrackers with potassium slivers and black powder to curious children.

"That's Im Yong Soo," Yao had explained when Arthur asked about the boy after being followed for nearly a week as he hurried about the castle in preparation for the coronation. "He is their current protégée, since his older brother died from Lungrot. I doubt he has any idea how much responsibility is on his shoulders. Or perhaps he does and refuses to show it."

Arthur had nodded along. He had a feeling Yong Soo knew exactly what he was doing. Unfortunately for him, he wouldn't be able to anticipate Arthur.

One snowy evening after having tea with the eldest of the Im women, Arthur sat on a plush sofa in his chambers; Catherine's book was open in his lap as the woman herself sat next to him, reading the text to him in a monotone voice. He paid her little mind these days, only taking notice when she obviously took notice of certain things – a clock on the wall, a book in the library, a door down an endless hallway. His only relief was that no one else could see or hear her – or maybe it was his worry.

There was a knock on his door and it pushed open. Arthur sighed and continued to stare at his page. "Alfred I do not have ti –" He cut off when he noticed that the person who had slipped into his room and closed the door was not the demon. "What are you doing in here?"

Yong Soo faced the door, his hand on the handle as he slowly turned around. He lacked his normally boisterous attitude as he took a step into the room, steel-faced. "I do not think we have met properly," he said with a short bow. "I am Im Yong Soo, heir of the Im Estates, and I know what you are."

Arthur closed his book slowly and set it on his bed. He got to his feet and wiped his palms on his trousers. "I am a man," he said, no longer able to see Catherine as he focused on the teenager's face, "and I am the Queen of Spades. That is all I am and I all I will ever be."

"That is what you say, but not everything can be believed." He walked further into the room and Arthur knew, beneath those long oriental sleeves, the boy held a weapon. "I have spoken to the maids and servants, they tell me of the strange noises that come from your chambers at night, how you mutter to yourself as you walk down the hallways, that you spend hours in the library and war rooms… it is not normal behavior and from one of the Kirkland lineage it is dangerous behavior."

Arthur smiled. "You assume much. If you had looked into these rumors further you would not be here. I have nothing to prove to you, but I will humor you." He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked into the center of the room. "Many people mutter to themselves when they are under stress or preoccupied. Being Queen and planning the coronation is not an easy task, I feel that I have forgotten hundreds of small details every moment of the day. My parents died when I was eleven years old, if they had even known magic, they certainly didn't have the time to teach me." He shrugged his shoulders and watched as Im Yong Soo moved towards the window that he had opened earlier to admire the snowfall. "And as for the strange noises at night… it is no secret that the King visits me in my chambers."

"In the middle of the night?" he asked peevishly.

"Well yes, nighttime and morning are generally the best times for a good shag."

The boy blushed and stepped back in surprise. He cleared his throat loudly and turned around to stare out of the window. "You're not married," he muttered in weak defense.

"We will be in but a week." Arthur came and stood next to Yong Soo, sliding into the thick fabric of the drapes. His chamber window overlooked nothing but forest that threatened to encroach on the castle walls. "There is nothing wrong with spending a night with the one that you love."

He looked away from Arthur with a flush in his cheeks. "I see… I cannot rule out all the rumors… You will have to know that I will be watching you closely, Kirkland." His shoulders slumped.

Arthur swallowed and reached out. This boy would never let him rest. He would always be underfoot, whispering witch and waiting for the moment he messed up. He couldn't have that – he had to stop it before they found out what Alfred was; what he had done. With that resolve, Arthur smiled, grabbed Yong Soo's shoulder, and then shoved.

His knees hit the wall and he flailed his arms, his knife cutting through his sleeve as Arthur pushed him completely out of the window.

There was a short yell, the crackle of twigs and leaves, and then a sickening thud – a sound similar to something popping. Arthur lived several stories above ground.

Arthur panted; his eyes were wide in post-adrenaline and his mind raced as he glanced around his room. He rushed to his bed, shoved _Religious Proofs _under his mattress and quickly ran from his room to the King's chambers, relieved that there was no one else traversing the halls at that particular hour.

Alfred was at his desk, scribbling something on a long piece of parchment. He nibbled on the end of his quill, ignoring the fact that it damaged and pulled apart the frail fibers of the feather. He glanced up after a final scribble, most likely his signature, and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Take off your clothes," Arthur shot out, unbuttoning his own blouse and pulling it off of his shoulders. He went straight for the King's bed and unlaced his boots. "I'm serious. Hurry – _now_!" He was hyperventilating, but he had no choice, he needed an alibi – an excuse. He grabbed a bottle of slick from the bedside drawer.

The demon rose from his chair, and slowly unbuttoned his jacket. "What is this about?" he asked with narrowed eyes. "What happened?"

Arthur shook his head and pulled of the rest of his clothes, lying back in the bed with his legs spread open. "There's no time. They could find out any moment. Come here and fuck me and I'll tell you everything as soon as it all blows over."

The first few minutes were awkward as Arthur tried to stroke Alfred with slicked fingers into an erection hard enough to penetrate. He eagerly pulled the demon close and spread his ass cheeks with his fingers, waiting for Alfred to push in.

"Why do you want this?" Alfred whispered against his neck, biting at his racing pulse. "You seem anxious and frightened. What did you do, I wonder? What is running through your head at this very moment?"

Arthur worried at his lower lip. "I need an excuse," he muttered, rocking beneath the demon to try and tempt him. "Something that puts me somewhere where something might've happened. I can't tell you yet, I don't know who's listening, now _please _get on with it."

Alfred still looked skeptical, but he dipped his head to lick the length of Arthur's collarbone and thrust into the Queen. "You'll tell me everything," he snarled into Arthur's sweaty skin.

"I – I will," Arthur gasped. He wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and buried his face into the demon's shoulder. He was driven into the springy mattress with every short thrust, his breath caught and he huffed with exertion. One of his legs ended up hooked around the demon's shoulder as he gasped and groaned, trying his best to hide underneath the King's body.

Alfred's hands were everywhere on him and he had remained in his human form – something he hardly ever did during sex. He bit Arthur and then kissed the tender spot of skin, pausing every here and there to catch his breath or to whisper something lewd into Arthur's ear.

For a moment Arthur let himself be lost in sensation. His fingers trailed up and down the length of the demon's spine and he gave a particularly loud moan as the demon's cock brushed against his prostate when the door to the King's chambers suddenly flung open.

"Your Majesty – oh!"

Alfred stilled, his cock buried deep inside of Arthur. He glanced over his shoulder to give Yao an unembarrassed, narrow look. "Yes?" he breathed out.

Yao retreated back into the hall, closing the door just enough to keep conversation and minimal eye contact. "I deeply apologize," he said with a stutter. "I didn't – um, have you seen the Queen by any chance?"

"Here," Arthur muttered, raising a hand from Alfred's shoulder inch-by-inch and waved.

The Jack coughed out another apology and the door slammed shut.

Alfred rocked against him and Arthur gasped. "Tell me," he demanded with a short thrust.

"I-ah, a member of the Im family accused me-ee, stop moving dammit! He accused me of being a witch." Arthur keened as Alfred flicked and licked at his nipples. "He's dead."

"Oh?" The demon sat up, a smile spreading across his face. "Very smart – eliminating the enemy is the only sure way to win. Was it by your own hand?"

He nodded.

"I suppose I'll just have to reward you then," the demon purred low in his throat.

For the next hour Arthur was reduced to moans and sobs as Alfred tormented him with bodily pleasures under soft hands and lips. He was a mess, torn between lust and disgust. He didn't want it, but he needed it, needed the caress of the demon's hands and his reassurances that what he had done wasn't horrible – that his morals weren't twisted, that he should _enjoy _it, and that thought scared him.

When Alfred finally finished with him, leaving him alone on the bed covered in sweat and come to take a bath, Arthur cried. He had killed a man and begged a demon for pleasure. His carefully built walls were crumbling around him and he felt sick.

Catherine stood by Alfred's desk. She stared down at an unraveled parchment with intense interest.

Arthur gathered his clothes and moved to the desk to see what Catherine was staring at. His knees trembled as he leaned over the chair. It was a letter.

_Dear Mother and Father_,

_I hope you are well. I have finally found time to write to you again and I wish to tell you how much I miss the golden fields of our home. The snow always seemed endless from the mansion windows, but there are so many walls and trees here – I find myself yearning for home. I wish you well for the holidays now, in case we don't have the chance to speak after my coronation. The Queen has been dreadfully busy planning everything. I admire him and his perseverance. Every day I watch the Kirkland name become redeemed with his efforts. As it is, I must leave and I will write you again when I get a moment. Your loving son, _

_Alfred F. Jones_

He sighed wistfully at the letter and wondered; what if the real Alfred Jones had not been killed? Would that sweet boy that wrote letters to his parents and fantasized about endless fields of snow be his King? It would be impossible to know now, and he hadn't the time to daydream about the impossible. The next week would be planning; for the coronation, for the holidays, for his next move across the chessboard he considered his life.

- End Chapter Five -

* * *

_Unimportant Notes_: Thank you everyone for your support! Thank you Owyn, Liberteabel and Blu! And as always thank you to Jordan for betaing! :)


	7. Chapter Six: Fooled by a Face

**The Price**

_Chapter Six: Fooled by a Face_

Arthur smoothed down his silken undershirt, the ruffled collar tickling the underside of his chin as a small line of people walked past. They were all donned in mourning colors with their heads bowed and burning incense in their hands. Arthur turned his nose away from the wisps of smoke and looked towards the cemetery, squinting against the glare of the sun off of the fresh snow. The burial for Im Yong Soo was a short one, respects paid by the King and Queen due to the mysterious circumstances surrounding his death in the castle, but there were no grateful looks from the teary eyes of the Im family.

"You have our condolences," Alfred said to the eldest of the Im women. He held his hand out to her, a somber look on his face, but the woman only stared at him with glassy brown eyes and moved along the line. Each family member mourned in silence, cut off the end of their incense stick and left.

Arthur stared at Yong Soo's grave, ashes dusting over the fresh snow. He killed that boy, he knew, and there was a guilt that bubbled in the cradle of his stomach when he thought about it. Had it been necessary? Was there anything else he could have done at the time? He asked himself many questions – relived the scant moments as Yong Soo fell through the open window, but he couldn't allow himself to regret.

Alfred pulled him close, tucking him against his side and touched their heads together. "Do not grieve, my Queen, for this is not your fault," he said in a frosty whisper, "there is nothing you can do for his departed soul. Come, let his family mourn in peace. I'm sure you're cold."

"Ah, yes. . . I'm a bit chilled." He grasped Alfred's cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders as well, tucking himself closer to the demon as they left the cemetery. The guilt pooled in his stomach, a poison that gurgled up into his throat with every step that they took away from the grave. He glanced over his shoulder to faintly see Catherine standing over Yong Soo's grave.

Her shoulders shook and a single thought penetrated his mind: _The first step._

Alfred led him into the castle, a pair of maids taking their cloaks with short bows and sorrowful expressions. He held Arthur's hand, his thumb rubbing over the bridge of Arthur's knuckles as they walked up the grand staircase and towards the royal chambers.

"Would you like a hot bath? Or something warm to drink?" He stopped on the top step to trace his thumbnail across Arthur's chin.

"Stop being nice," Arthur hissed. He shifted his face away from the demon's outstretched hand and frowned. "Don't think I've forgotten what you are."

Alfred hummed with his hand still secure around Arthur's. "And don't think I've forgotten what you've done, my Queen."

Arthur bit his lip and followed Alfred into the Queen's chambers. He slumped onto his bed, hiding his face between his cupped hands. "That poor boy," he mumbled into his hands and sighed. "I can't believe I – there must have been another way."

The demon shut the grand doors and swiftly knelt before Arthur, prying the Queen's hands from his face to take them into his own. "Look at me," he said softly. "Do you believe that there was a better option? That this young witch hunter, eager to prove his worth to his family, would have not done anything rash; would have not ousted you; would not have accused you of the witchcraft of your ancestors that you fear so much?"

Arthur swallowed and stared at the dip of the demon's neck, watching his adam's apple bob up and down with every honeyed word. He couldn't bear to look at Alfred's face – the face of the poor boy from the golden meadows with innocent blue eyes and a Cupid's bow smile. He knew if he looked into that face, that he'd lose his mind – that he'd forget what was truly behind that loving touch.

"No," he answered after a long breath. "No I don't believe there was any stopping him."

"Then you are in the right. Trust no one but me; I will lead down the path of power that you want. All you must do is follow me."

Arthur shook his head. "No, I will not fall into your whims that easily." He sat back and set his shoulders straight. "I have committed a sin, but that doesn't mean I am lost completely – no, many saints have done worse. I. . ." He sighed and slumped back forward. "I have nothing left."

The demon smiled. "You have power and pleasure – what else do you require?"

"I don't. . . I don't know." He looked up into the demon's eyes, searching the mask for deception but found only a soft look that must have been natural for the young Alfred F. Jones – a look that could have warmed any night and brought a spark to any conversation. A look that held intelligence and mischief – a look that Arthur wanted to keep for himself – to shine only upon him for forever more.

Arthur's fingers tugged from the demon's grip to crawl their way up his arms and into Alfred's blond hair. He dipped down and pressed his lips against Alfred's, gasping when the King surged forward and pushed Arthur onto the bed. Arthur stared up at Alfred as he climbed on top of him, his fingers picking at the buttons of their suits. He didn't know what he wanted or why, but there was something about the way Alfred touched him – something that reassured him and made him feel as if he'd never done wrong. He needed it, but couldn't bring himself to admit it.

"It's not too early in the day for you?" Alfred joked, working open the collar of his jacket.

"It might be, yes," Arthur said with a frown. "And since that's the case. . . I only wish for you to stay close. I'm cold."

Alfred grasped the blankets, his mouth pulling to the side. "I see," he mumbled. He pried off his boots and finished unbuttoning his jacket. He crawled over Arthur, touching his cold nose against the underside of Arthur's chin and then dropped down next to him. "If warmth is your pleasure, then I can provide it. . . and in more interesting ways, if you so desire."

"Just. . . pretend not to be the vile creature you are for an hour, would you? I simply. . . Give me at least that."

The demon frowned, but it slowly turned into a sharp smile. "Ah. You wish to play a game of masks? Tonight I will wear a beguiled mask. I wonder what yours will be. Hm?"

"Sleep," Arthur groused. Without much thought, he hid his face into the dip of Alfred's shoulder, sighing as he gripped the silk of Alfred's shirt for a comfort he knew he could never truly find. "I don't want to think about what's good and what's not. I don't want to hear it – just let these sleeping woes lie."

"As you desire."

_The first mistake._

* * *

The coronation was only a week away; the clouds in the mid-November sky were gray and heavy with snow. During the night, townsfolk lit crude wax candles to keep loved ones safe during the wintery storms. Arthur paced the quartz laced hallways between his study and his chambers for fittings, mumbling lists and reminders as he prepared for what would likely be the most grand and important party he would ever plan during his reign. Occasionally Yao would attempt to follow him with advice and lists of his own, but would quickly become winded and give up until the night when Arthur would finally settle into the library to attempt to relax after a warm bath.

"What RSVPs are missing?" Yao asked him one night as the snow fell in blankets, coating the windows with senselessly patterned frost and snow.

"From the dignitaries and their parties? Only those of Diamonds, but I've been assured that they enjoy being. . . fashionably late." He sniffed and looked down his nose at the page of his book. "There are a few nobles here in Spades that haven't responded and I assume there's bad blood or misgivings in the family – I hear rumors of all sorts every day from the scullery maids."

Yao frowned but nodded. "Diamonds will come – whether or not they respond. It's common in Diamonds not to send word before departing on a trip. I don't understand their custom, but for royalty I can understand how it can be seen as a safety."

"I admit I'm not extremely familiar with out-Kingdom customs, but I'm learning. King Ivan has stayed in contact with me and I'm learning much from him." Arthur sighed. "A closer relationship to Clubs couldn't hurt the Kingdom, but I worry what the common-folk will think about it."

"Let the King worry about something like that," Yao said dismissively. "I see that you've been more careful on taking note of your health. I'm glad."

Arthur grimaced, his face hidden behind his book. "Likewise." He took a moment to stretch his arms over his head and snapped his book closed. "I apologize, but I must meet with Alf – the King before I rest any longer tonight."

Yao nodded and watched Arthur start to leave, but as soon as he got to the door, Yao cleared his throat. "I don't mean to pry, but Yong Soo . . . he was found –"

"I know what everyone thinks," Arthur said in a gravelly voice, "And I know what many people suspect, but you know where I was. It may not have been the most . . . savory of actions, I know, but I care," Arthur paused, tasting the strange choice of words, his eyes sweeping over the grain of the door. "I care," he repeated, "about the King and I will do anything for him."

"That's all I wanted to hear," Yao mumbled. "Thank you."

With a curt nod Arthur left, listening to the door latch into place as he closed it behind him. From the corner of his eye he could see the silhouette of Catherine standing by a frosted window, her hands behind her back as if she were lost in thought.

_We wear the mask of deceit. Trust no one, rely on no one. We are alone._

"There is no 'we'," Arthur muttered as he stormed down the polished floors. "You're dead for a reason. I will succeed."

* * *

The maid's gnarled fingers ran against the front of his silken tunic, checking the flow and fit of the fabric with a row of needles nestled between her leathery lips. "Don't squirm," she growled out of the corner of her mouth.

Arthur turned his nose up, staring at the discolored corner of the full-length mirror set before him. The final preparations for the coronation ceremony seemed to be piling up on him with every moment; fittings, issues with dining menus, seating selections, temporary staffing, and appealing to all the foreign dignitaries – Arthur felt overwhelmed. He itched to do something constructive instead of standing about being fitted. He wiped his shaking hands on the seat of his trousers despite the scalding glare the maid gave him. "And these will be the final alterations?"

"For you, yes," she groused. "I will finish the King's jacket tonight and the Jack's traditional wear is to be hand painted in the morning." She stabbed her thumb into the small of Arthur's back. "Don't squirm."

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping. Instead he let his eyes wander to the top shelf of his bookcase where _Religious Proofs _rested amongst the other dreary titles. At night he felt plagued by the book – there were no words echoing in his thoughts, but he felt watched, felt called. His memory was burned by images of blue eyes and the phantom touches of false affections that made him itch and toss in his blankets.

There was something about Alfred F. Jones that Arthur wanted to know. Not the demon, but the boy – the one with the sunny smiles and wheat field home. It was becoming an all-consuming thought – one that he knew he must shake for his own sake. Dreaming over something that was gone was foolish.

When the maid left him with bundles of different hued blue silks tucked over her arm, Arthur reached for _Religious Proofs_ and locked his chamber door, leaving the key in the hole in his haste. He flipped through the pages until he found one that was well worn, the paper thinner and yellowing more than many of the others. On the top of the page it simply read: _Scrying_. What, exactly, it was able to show, Arthur didn't know, but he was curious as to what he might see – curious and eager to feel the pulsing sensations that magic brought to his skin; the overwhelming feeling of power.

Following the directions, he placed his silver bowl of water, meant for washing his hands and face before sleep, in the center of the floor and knelt upon a cushion as he stared into the still surface of the water. The spell was simple enough, requiring only silver and water with a few mumbled words, but it also demanded great patience, which Arthur found difficult in his current state of mind. He would stare into the water, blink and frown when there was no images. He glared at the bottom of the bowl, skimmed his fingers across the surface of the water and began again several times. There was no familiar pressure of magic upon his skin, no warmth building in the center of his chest until it felt as if it would burst through his ribs.

"Show me," he snarled quietly, "show me what I desire most." With those small words a black ink swirled through the water in the bowl, the tips of fingers felt pricked by the still liquid. Colors eventually pervaded, slowly giving way into an image that Arthur anxiously bent to see. It may have been a simple image of the jewel studded throne or several leagues of outfitted soldiers standing proudly beneath him, it was a start and it would have been a relief.

However, what Arthur saw was not several armor donned men or richly dressed nobles kissing the bridge of his knuckles, but the image of a vast wheat field, the crop golden and ripe as it bent in waves beneath the wind. On the balcony of a secluded mansion stood a young man, his arms crossed on the railing before him as he looked out over the land with an expression of yearning. He touched the fabric over his hip and sighed.

_I will make them proud. _The words penetrated Arthur's mind in a soft, reluctant baritone. _I will be the people's King. I promised. I will make them all proud as is my duty._

With a hitched breath Arthur kicked the bowl away, sending the now uncolored water splashing across the plush carpet of his chambers.

"A supreme joke that is," he spat, jumping to his feet with a snarl. That was not his desire. There was no room in his heart for that pain – that longing. "Oh Catherine you're a clever jest, but you cannot fool me." He made a quick sweep of the room but did not see the familiar visage of the dead King.

Before he could think further on the implications of her absence, there was a gentle knock on his door and the Jack peered inside as he cracked open the door. "Forgive me if I'm disturbing you, but the maids reported a ruckus coming from your room. Is everything alright Your Highness?" He stifled a cough as his brown eyes glanced over the spill.

"Ah, yes, I must be more tired than I thought. I spilt this. . ." Arthur sighed. "It's merely water, so don't fret over sending a maid to clean it. It'll dry by morning."

Yao gave him a speculative look, but conceded. "As you say. Please remember that the foreign dignitaries and their parties will be arriving as soon as the morrow."

"Yes, I remember. Thank you."

With that, Yao nodded and closed the door, leaving Arthur to contemplate over the wet stain on the fabric of the rug.

"Was he so determined to be King, I wonder?" he asked as he stared down. "What would he have given for it?" With a sigh Arthur flung his arms into the air. "And what does it matter? His face decorates a demon! His duty consumed him – or had him consumed. We are not alike. Nor am I like Catherine. I will not let their mistakes become mine."

He yanked off his boots and threw them towards his half-open wardrobe. He had no time to worry over what could be and had been. There was no option for him but to continue onwards and to never break.

That night the demon did not visit him – did not touch him with his beguiling hands, soft with lust and filled with false love. However, he could not sleep, tossing and turning in the bed as he thought of the determined boy dreaming of his duty and of the letters he would intercept between the demon and the boy's parents.

But it was one alarming thought that kept him from sleep. Could it be possible that the determined boy from his scrying misadventure could oust the demon? Could he control the demon's thoughts? Was he, by the slimmest of chances, still there? And most of all, if he was, what would he do?

Arthur didn't dare try and answer.

-End Chapter Six-

* * *

_Unimportant Notes_: Sorry for my summer hiatus! I hope I managed to keep the feel of the story despite the break, and thank you everyone for reading!


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